


An Angel Came Down

by ANobleCompanion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, Carpenter!Dean, Christmas, Doctor!Sam, Fallen Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Songfic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANobleCompanion/pseuds/ANobleCompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s conflict in heaven. Michael is arguing that the children of earth are too favored by their father. That they have done nothing but cause war and strife, practically destroying the world God had carefully crafted for them. Another faction argues that mankind is still young. Yes, they are brash, but they will learn. There are signs of goodness that sprout up all around them. Michael argues these are tangible things only - too easy to destroy with the darkness that lies in every man.  It is decided an emissary will be chosen to go down to earth. They must find some proof that humanity has good in it.</p>
<p>Castiel is sent on a mission to find this proof. What he finds instead might end up being so much more.</p>
<p>
  <img/>
</p>
<p>Header by the ever so lovely <a href="http://swlfangirl.tumblr.com">swlfangirl</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handprints_in_hell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handprints_in_hell/gifts).



> To my Santee, Handprints_in_Hell, sorry this is so long in coming! I hope it's worth the wait. 
> 
> This was inspired by the Trans Siberian Orchestra song of the same name.

The argument was old, stretching back at least a millennia. At least this round of it. The core of contention went back much further, it’s beginnings originating with Lucifer and his followers before they were banished from Heaven.  Now Michael had taken up the mantle, arguing against humanity; against their Father’s clear favoritism for creatures that caused, to Michael’s mind, only war and chaos.

“They want nothing more than to destroy each other - the more creatively, the better,” he argued passionately.

“But they have such great capacity for good in them as well,” Anael countered.

“A teaspoon of goodness, the only purpose served by which to give them means to assuage their guilt over their crimes. And they aren’t content just to annihilate each other. They’re taking the rest of our Father’s creations along with them. How many more species have to die out before they’re satisfied?”

“The platypus is still doing fine,” Gabriel said as he leaned casually against a tall white pillar, ankles crossed and smirk evident. He rarely seemed to take these debates seriously, but he always participated nonetheless.

Michael sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, taking a full ten seconds before turning to face his fellow archangel. “I’m glad that Father’s little indulgence to your whim is surviving the onslaught of humanity, but I think you’re failing to see the bigger picture, my brother.”

Inhaling deeply, Michael stiffened his shoulders, as though fortifying himself against the response to what he was about to say.

“Humans have clearly squandered the gift our Father has given them. They have proved to be unworthy of free will. This little experiment must come to an end. I think it is time we move forward with our Father’s prophecy.”

Anael and several of the other angels in attendance gasped, a few shaking their heads in denial that such a proposal had even been suggested.

Gabriel stood up, all traces of his smirk wiped from his face. “What prophecy is this, brother?” he asked, his voice flattened and void of the general amusement he was so well known for.

“You know very well the prophecy I speak of, Gabriel.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrow, cocking his head slightly at his older brother. “If you’re referring to the Apocalypse, then I don’t know that it was so much a prophecy as a contingency plan. I don’t believe humanity is as so far gone as you would like everyone to believe. So long as there is hope, I think they deserve a second chance.”

“A second chance?” Michael exclaimed, disbelief lining his voice, his wings twitching to the point that Bartholomew, the angel standing closest to his left, had to move out of his way to avoid being buffeted in his righteous fury.

“Father has given them a second chance. He forgave them for eating the forbidden fruit, he forgave them for selling their own brothers into slavery, and finally, he forgave them for killing his own son made flesh. And yet they use this forgiveness as an excuse to forge even greater war. Even amongst those who claim to share the same faith! They twist his words to their own meaning. What good can come from this? What right do these creatures have to free will? What right have they to the highest place in our Father’s heart?”

“What _right_ do they have? That’s just it Michael. That’s what you’ve never understood. Our father gave them the right to fail. To fall down and get back up again. And I know you can’t see it, but they do. They get back up again over and over. Their _right_ is to keep trying.” Gabriel’s wings were taut, quivering, as he faced off with Michael. Rarely did he allow himself to get so riled up, but his brother had pushed him too far this time. Threatening the apocalypse? Only their Father had the authority to decide to set that in motion. Michael had forgotten his place and it was humanity that would pay the price if Gabriel couldn’t talk him down.

Michael’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have such faith in them, brother,” he sneered. “Then let them prove themselves one last time. It is two thousand years since our Father sent them their last chance at redemption. Though many celebrate it on earth as we speak, they have forgotten what that offer truly meant. Now they will have one final chance. A chance not sent by our Father, but a chance offered up by man.”

“What are you playing at, Michael?” Gabriel asked, backing off a step, his wings, no longer twitching, but still spread wide and wary.

“We will send an angel among them,” Michael held up his hand as Gabriel opened his mouth to argue. “It will be an angel we both agree on. One that has kept himself neutral in this disagreement of ours.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin upwards slightly. “Very well, what will this angel’s task be?”

“This angel must bring back proof of humanity’s ‘potential’ as you put it. It must be something that no one can touch, but can be held by an angel.”

Gabriel frowned, trying to find the loophole. Such a task wouldn’t be easy, but it shouldn’t be impossible either. “How long will this angel have to look?”

“I think the season of Advent should prove long enough. That gives the angel in question twenty-six earth days to complete their mission. Given that almost a third of the human population claim this is the time of year for peace, it shouldn’t be too difficult, now should it?”

Michael gave Gabriel a small smile that felt more like a trap than a promise. Internally, he cringed at the short time frame, but he knew that if he could be allowed to find the right angel to carry out the mission, it would be more than enough.  

“Very well, but since you’ve laid out all the details for this grand scheme, perhaps you’ll give me the honor of choosing the lucky sap who has to carry it out?”

Michael nodded, “Of course, Gabriel. Remember though, you must choose someone we will both approve of, one who has kept neutral of these discussions.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Michael, I’ll play by your rules here. I think I’ll nominate,” Gabriel’s eyes skimmed the room. Most of the host was present, many supporting all sides of the argument and many who remained undecided. He was looking for one pair of dark wings in particular. Finally, he spotted the angel he wanted, on a ledge about halfway up the wall, where he could easily see the proceedings, but not necessarily be noticed. Gabriel’s smile widened. “I’ll nominate, Castiel.”

A murmur ran through the room and Gabriel saw Castiel stiffen, his wings spreading as though his first instinct was flight, and then drawing in on himself as if he was trying to shrink from view.

Michael’s eyebrows shot up, clearly wondering at Gabriel’s choice. It couldn’t be denied that Castiel had refused to choose sides, it was no secret that he often voiced sadness that any issue should cause division amongst the host. Michael would not be able to publicly find fault with his brother’s selection. Nonetheless, he narrowed his eyes, searching Gabriel’s face for sign of deception or subterfuge. He found none.

“Castiel!” he called, not bothering to look towards the ledge where Castiel still perched, hoping in vain not to be noticed.

Gabriel saw Castiel’s shoulders sag for a moment in resignation before he seemed to pull them back and square his chin. Ever the soldier. But Gabriel knew there was more to Castiel than that. He was counting on it.

Castiel spread his ebony wings, the blue highlights catching in Heaven’s reflected light, and with no more than one flap to launch himself, gracefully glided to the floor to stand next to Michael.

“Yes, my brother?”

“Castiel, I know you have witnessed the exchange between Gabriel and myself,” Michael began.

Gabriel was certain he saw the tiniest movement of Cas’s head, a slight lifting of his eyebrow that gave away his amusement at what Michael termed an “exchange.”

“I did,” Castiel responded, clearly not willing to jump into the request, despite knowing what was coming.

“Do you understand what this task would entail?”

“For an angel to go to earth,” Castiel paused slightly, letting the true weight of the command fall on both participants. No angel had been to earth for over a millennia. Gabriel himself had been one of the last. “This angel must somehow retrieve proof that humanity is worthy of the gift of our Father’s son and his sacrifice. This proof cannot be something physically tangible, but it must be something that can be held by an angel.”

“And do you understand that you have been chosen as this angel?”

“I do.”

“And do you understand that in this task you must be impartial to both sides, seeking or failing without prejudice towards either Gabriel or my opinion?”

“I do.”

“Do you understand what will happen should you _not_ find proof?”

“You will have determined it enough evidence to bring about the apocalypse, destroying humanity, and likely dividing the forces of Heaven against each other in the meantime.”

Michael’s gaze narrowed on the last detail and he examined Castiel shrewdly. A muscle in his jaw flexed, and his face showed that he was beginning to wonder if Castiel was really as neutral as he’d originally thought. 

“Very good. You have twenty-six days in which to complete your task. You may do so however you wish.”

Castiel nodded. He needed no preparation. He was a soldier and he would obey. Spreading his wings, he leapt downward through the barrier that divided the world between the earthly plane and Heaven, the reverberation of such an action creating a wave not unlike a sonic boom, and a light like a distant supernova. On earth, it would merely sound like thunder and appear as an exceptionally bright star guiding those who might be lost on an otherwise star-less night.  

He continued, pushing through Earth’s atmosphere as it attempted to buffet him about, turbulent and disturbed by the unrest in heaven. Clouds blocked his vision and he allowed himself to fly on instinct alone. He had no concept of where to start, so any place he landed felt just as likely as another.

He was halfway through a particularly dense cloud bank when something pulled him sharply to a stop.

It was as though he’d hit a brick wall going a hundred and fifty miles an hour. If Castiel had been mortal, he would have been killed instantly. But there was nothing in front of him. Dazed, Castiel looked around him, trying to pinpoint what had blocked his path and prevented him from continuing his journey to Earth. Hovering, he cocked his head to the side as he looked at the swirling eddies of condensed water around him. He knew that just beneath him, this water would be falling in the form of a terrific blizzard. Visibility below would likely be just as bad as it was in the cloud itself. It was unlikely Castiel would be able to see whatever it was that stopped him.

Then he heard it.

Softly at first, as though hesitant and unsure. Pure notes, filled with sadness, hope, longing, and love drifted up towards him. They filled Castiel’s mind with a joy he hadn’t felt since the host had been one, whole, together and singing in harmony at all the wonder of his Father’s creation.

He closed his eyes, letting the sound twist around him, so real he could almost feel it. But it was too faint. Too far away. He needed to find the source.

The notes snaked around his wrists, his feet, and pulled.

Unaware of what precisely had happened, Castiel felt himself falling, plummeting towards the earth, a cacophony of other sounds filling his mind as he came closer and closer to the throbbing pulse of humanity.

The sounds of machinery, discordant with the sounds of pain from the sick, lonely and dying. The sounds of rushing, of people always having somewhere to be, something to do, and no time to think about the marvels around them. There were sounds of laughter, sounds of families saying “I love you,” but these were drowned out by everything else.

The sounds exploded in Castiel’s head and he couldn’t think clearly. He clung to the thread of the first sound, shutting his mind out to everything else, shutting his mind even to the host, who had been in his head always.

Finally, it was quiet, but now the first sound was dying out, fading and vanishing into nothingness. Castiel’s only tether was cut, and he plummeted the last hundred feet or so to earth with no direction, eventually landing with a forceful _THWUMP_ into a large snow bank outside a small house. He registered a door opening and a large figure illuminated by the light behind him before Castiel’s world went dark.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The storm was one of the worst Dean could remember. Hell, it was even worse than the one they’d had a few days ago. That one had dropped a good three feet of snow on them and it was just the day after Thanksgiving. Sure, it was Kansas. They’d had snow before Christmas in the past, but never like this. And it wasn’t just Kansas. According to the news, every single state in the United States had snow somewhere within their borders. If it wasn’t snow, it was ice, or frigidly cold temperatures. Europe wasn’t much better off. He loved snow as much as any kid with the potential for a day off school, but this was a bit ridiculous.  

He might have found himself wishing for summer, if the same news reports weren’t telling the exact opposite problem south of the equator. Boiling hot temperatures, often ten to fifteen degrees warmer than normal, were contributing to huge droughts in Australia, Africa and South America. The anchor on his regular channel commented that the drought was likely to cause a spike in coffee prices, as if that was the most significant consequence to issue.

He flicked back the curtain and glanced out the window again. Sure enough, the wind was still howling. So far, it looked like they’d already added at least another foot to the three already on the ground, and it showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.

Sighing, he dropped the curtain back into place. His back was gonna kill him tomorrow. He looked over at the baby monitor, stilling for a moment to make sure there were no sounds coming from it, beyond the soft exhales of his little niece.  Just because the storm of the century was raging outside didn’t mean his doctor brother and his wife, an ER nurse, got the night off. On the contrary, they were probably even busier with cases of hypothermia and morons who thought they could actually drive in this mess.

Sarah had not gone down easily tonight. Not that Dean could blame her. The way the wind was howling around his little house was nerve wracking even to him. He thought about all the tree branches that leaned precariously close to the roof and wished for at least the third time that night that he’d gotten around to trimming them this past summer when it was still warm. But he’d enjoyed the shade too much, and although the wood would hardly have gone to waste with him, he hated cutting live trees. Nature was there to be enjoyed and he wanted to encroach on it as little as possible.

Almost without thinking, Dean reached for the half finished piece of wood on the coffee table, and pulled his knife out of his back pocket before settling next to the small trash can he had sitting beside his chair. Dean might be reluctant to cut a living branch, but when he found a tree, or branch already felled, he accepted the gift and made what he could out of it.

He wasn’t really sure what the wood in his hands would be yet, but he hoped it would turn into something he could give little Sarah. Not that she was picky; after all, she was only four months old. But he had his own standards for what would be good enough for that little girl.

He had just gotten into his zone, where it was just him, his hands and the wood, when a loud, _THWUMP_ , sounded just outside.

His knife slipped and just barely missed gouging a chunk out of his thumb.

 “ _Shit!_ ” he said loudly, startled and still trying to make sure his thumb was in tact. He winced and cursed himself again as he turned towards the baby monitor, praying there would be no change in the sound.

Luck seemed to be on his side. Just to be sure, he got up, padding softly to the guest room where he kept the extra crib for nights like this when both Sam and Jess were working and Sarah stayed with him. Cracking open the door a little, he glanced in to see the baby on her stomach, diapered butt in the air, blithely unaware of the storm raging outside.

Dean turned back to the front room contemplating. Most likely, it was just a tree branch that had fallen. He should probably check to make sure it hadn’t hit any of the gutters on the way down. Not that there was much he’d be able to do about it right now, but at least he’d be able to have an idea of what lay ahead of him in the morning. If nothing else, he could get it off the front path before more snow fell on it and he had to use the chainsaw just to dig them out to the driveway in the morning.

Grumbling, Dean grabbed his boots, stuffing his feet into them as quickly as he could, making sure to tuck his pants in as well. The last thing he needed was for snow to get down inside them while he was moving the branch. He wrapped the long, multi-colored scarf Charlie had made him around his neck and over his face multiple times before pulling on his warmest parka. A quick search yielded up his gloves, still drying on the radiator from the last time he’d been outside earlier that day.

Finally prepared, Dean opened the door and stopped. That sure as hell wasn’t a tree branch in his front yard. He moved closer, cautiously, eyes never leaving the dark shape that had buried itself in the snow. It was only then that Dean realized the wind had stopped howling, although the snow still drifted down. Now it settled gently, almost lazily on the form in front of him rather than driving blindingly into Dean’s face as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Taking another step forward, Dean confirmed his suspicions. It certainly wasn’t a tree branch; that was a man lying face down and still in his front yard.

Shit.

Dean took a half second to reflect that his inner vocabulary could really use a tune up, but it was just destined to be one of those nights.

Moving forward, Dean waded into the deeper drift where the man had landed. Though where he’d fallen from was anybody’s guess. It was just to the right of the path, so the snow there was almost twice as high from where Dean had shoveled earlier that day.  Probably good for the poor sap, based on how deep into the snow he’d sunk, he’d needed the extra cushioning.  

With all the snow in his way, it wasn’t easy, but Dean managed to drape one of the guy’s arms over his own shoulders and haul him into a semi-upright position. Whoever this dude was, he was out cold and a complete dead weight against Dean’s side.

A good deal of huffing, grunting and swearing later, Dean managed to drag the form into his entryway. Exhausted, Dean dumped him, as gently as possible against the small staircase that led up to his loft-style bedroom.  

Breathing heavily, Dean looked down at the newcomer, trying to figure out what to do next.

Well, first, the dude was soaked, and Dean could see his lips were already starting to turn blue. He might not be the smart one in the family, but he’d managed to raise a doctor and have an ER nurse for a sister-in-law. Even he knew that hypothermia was a real danger here. He had to get the guy warm and pronto. That meant new clothes. Even more pressing, getting the guy out of the wet clothes he was currently in.

Deciding it would be easier to get the stranger comfortable on the couch in front of the fire now, would be far less awkward than it would be when he was naked, Dean bent down and lifted the guy in a fireman’s hold. And damn was he heavy. Certainly far heavier than he looked. Must be all compacted muscle.

Once at the couch, Dean methodically stripped the man of his shoes, coat and suit. And seriously, who went out in a Kansas blizzard in dress shoes, a suit and trench coat? He decided the dude’s, boxers were dry enough, and left those on.

Quickly, he piled every blanket in the room over the man, making sure to tuck them around him as snugly as possible before running upstairs to grab dry clothes, along with an extra blanket or two.

He set the clothes on the table near the man’s head for when he woke up and piled on more blankets. At somewhat of a loss at that point, Dean decided to add an extra log or two to the fire to try and bring as much warmth as he could to the small room, before sitting back down to continue his carving.

It’s not like he could do anything else until the man regained consciousness. There wasn’t any point in calling the police or an ambulance. The guy’s lips were already returning to a more normal color, even if he could really use a healthy dose of chapstick, and he certainly didn’t pose an immediate harm. Dean figured even the cops and EMT’s should be on the road as little as possible right now. No need to bother them for a situation he could handle.

Dean was lost in the wood again when the man on the couch began to stir. While the little piece in his hand was still unrecognizable as anything other than a hunk of wood, Dean could just barely make out a face under his fingers.

Setting it aside, he looked up to see a pair of bright, blue eyes looking back at him and blinking owlishly.  

The man looked around him, his gaze landing on the pile of blankets atop him. He tilted his head and narrowed his gaze as if they were the most confusing part of the room.

“Hey, there. Welcome back to the world of the living,” Dean said, keeping his voice cheerful, though he still watched the stranger cautiously.

The man frowned. “Where am I?”

“Well, depends on what “where” you’re looking for. My name’s Dean Winchester. This happens to be my living room. If you’re looking for broader specifics, we’re at 1102 Bunker Drive in Lawrence, Kansas.”

“I see,” the man said, as though his words were the furthest thing from the truth. Honestly, Dean didn’t know what to make of the guy.

“So, mind telling me what you were doing in my front yard in the middle of a blizzard?”

“I - I’m unsure.” The man sat up a little, so that the blankets dropped away to reveal a toned chest. Not that Dean was paying attention.

He frowned, looking down at the blankets pooling in his lap, seemingly unperturbed by his bare chest.

Dean raised his eyebrow, “Well, how ‘bout we start with something simpler? What’s your name, man?”

“I,” the man hesitated, his brow furrowing as though trying hard to remember something vitally important. “I can’t remember for sure. I think, Cas?”

He looked up at Dean, his gaze wide eyed and seeking, as though hoping Dean would give him confirmation.

Dean threw up his hands and shook his head. “Look man, Cas, until you fell into my front yard, I’d never seen you before in my life. I can’t tell you anything other than that you seemed to come out of nowhere and you were dressed completely inappropriately for the weather.”

Cas nodded, his brow still furrowed. “I think - I think I was on a mission. Something vitally important.”

Dean laughed, “A mission, huh? What are you, one of Santa’s elves doing reconnaissance?”

Cas’s furrow never left his face, but he turned to look at Dean, his eyes almost boring in to the other man, “I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean sighed, his shoulders dropping in exhaustion. It had been one hell of a night. He considered his options. He had a guest bed, but Sarah was sleeping in that room. Not only did he not want to risk waking her up, but he didn’t know this guy from Adam. No way was he putting a stranger in the same room as his niece.

“Look, Cas. I’m exhausted. Since it doesn’t look like you’re going to be dying of hypothermia anytime soon, why don’t you go down the hall to the bathroom,” Dean pointed in the direction Cas would need to go, “while I go get sheets to make up the couch? There’s no way you’re going to be able to go anywhere tonight. They still haven’t cleared the roads from last week’s snow. You’re likely going to be stuck with us for a few days. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Castiel nodded, taking the clothes on the table and pushing the blankets off himself. Dean had a brief flash of broad, heavily muscled shoulders and toned thighs as he turned to the linen closet for sheets.

He was _not_ going to check out the strange guy staying at his house. It had been easier to ignore the dude’s physique when he’d undressed him earlier. That was clinical. The guy - Cas - had needed to get out of his wet clothes and under blankets as soon as possible. Dean hadn’t had time to let his imagination roam.

Now though…

It didn’t matter. Despite what his brother and his friends might think, Dean wasn’t interested in a one night stand. And strange guys that seemingly fell out of the sky and couldn’t even remember their own name? That didn’t exactly scream long term potential. It was actually kinda disheartening that no one close to him had noticed that he hadn’t bothered to bring anyone home in well over two years. They all just kept thinking he was the same person he’d always been. Perhaps it was for the best. Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of guy you took home to meet the parents.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Dean concentrated on making up the pullout couch while Cas changed in the bathroom. He wondered if he had an extra toothbrush and dashed upstairs to check.

Thank the Costco gods, he was only halfway through the value pack he’d purchased a few months ago. He wasn’t really into sharing his toothbrush with a complete stranger and by the time they got dug out? Dude’s breath would have been rank.

By the time he came back down with the toothbrush and a travel sized toothpaste, Cas was standing at the edge of the bed looking a little lost.  

“Here you go, man. Thought you might like to brush your teeth before turning in.”

“Oh,” said Cas, looking for all the world as if the toothbrush was a foreign object.

“You know? You put the toothpaste on the brush and you swirl it around your teeth until they're clean?” Dean said, making the motions as he spoke. He eyed the man in front of him warily, “How hard did you hit your head?”

“I don’t know, I have no recollection of hitting my head,” Cas said.

“Yeah, well, all I know is I’m exhausted. Maybe if we both go to sleep, tomorrow will make more sense, yeah?”

“Alright, Dean.” 

“Ok.” Somewhat reluctantly, Dean moved back up the staircase, watching as Cas looked at the toothbrush again before setting it down on the end table beside the couch and sitting down on the mattress, looking around like a lost puppy.

Sighing, Dean rubbed his hand over his face before pushing open the door to his room. Yeah. Hopefully everything would make more sense in the morning.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A small noise woke Cas. He blinked, looking over at the clock on the tv stand to see that it read 2:13 am. Unsure of what had disturbed him, he glanced around the room, hoping to find the source.

He felt a little more settled than he had a few hours ago. Everyday objects that had seemed so strange to him before now had a name and a meaning. He wished he could say the same for himself. He knew Cas wasn’t his real name, but it was close enough to keep him from trying too hard to dig further. He also knew he had a specific purpose and whatever reason he was here, it was important. It frustrated him that he couldn’t recall what it was.

The noise sounded again, coming from a little ways down the hall. Cautiously pushing the sheets down the couch, Cas slipped out of bed, pulling up the slightly too large sweatpants Dean had lent him as he did.

He paused at a door he had noticed earlier in the night when using the bathroom. Gently pushing it open, he peered inside to see a scrunched up face staring back at him from inside a crib. Upon realizing the face she was seeing wasn’t the one she expected, the little girl in the crib took a deep breath, ready to let out an enormous wail of discontent.  

Quickly, as if running on instinct, Cas scooped the little girl into his arms, rocking her gently and smoothing a hand over her forehead. It seemed to do the trick. She settled down in his arms, her small mouth working as though looking for something.

 _Look in the fridge_ , something told him. Cas wasn’t sure if it was instinct again, or if someone or something was directing him. The advice seemed logical, and sure enough, when he opened the fridge there were several bottles already prepared.

He reached in to grab one, frowning when he realized how cold it was. Glancing over, he found the microwave, placed the bottle inside and programed it for forty-five seconds.

While the bottle inside rotated, Cas gently rocked the baby in his arms. Fortunately, she seemed content to wait.

When the microwave indicated only two seconds left, Cas opened the door, not wanting the noise to wake Dean. The man had been kind enough to take in a complete stranger. Cas could give him the courtesy of a full night’s sleep in return.

It didn’t take long for the baby to devour the contents of the bottle, her eyes already growing heavy with sleep. Cas lifted her to his shoulder, gently rubbing her back as he walked with her back to the nursery. He was rewarded with a soft burping noise, followed by an impressive yawn for a creature so small.  Smiling, he placed her back in the crib, watching for a minute or two to make sure she was really asleep before returning to his bed on the couch.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t wake again until he heard a frantic Dean running down the stairs.

“Sarah, oh God, Sarah,” he said, his eyes wild and baby monitor in hand.

Cas blinked heavily, chasing the sleep from his head. The living room was now filled with light from the higher windows, the lower windows half blocked and darkened by the snow that rested against them. The clock below the tv now reading 9:36.

“Dean?” he asked.

“Sarah, my niece, Sarah, she didn’t wake up last night. She’s too young to sleep through the night,” Dean said frantically as he hurried past Cas to the door with the baby.

Cas hurried to get upright, following Dean and trying to reassure him as he went.

“Dean, she’s fine. She did wake up. Just after two,” Cas said.

Dean turned to look at him, hand on the doorknob.

“What?”

“She woke up just after two this morning looking for food. I found a bottle in the fridge and heated it up for her. She fell back to sleep pretty quickly.”

Dean turned the knob on the door and stuck his head inside. Cas peeked in over his shoulder somewhat eager to see Sarah again now that he knew her name. Sure enough, the baby was awake and playing with her toes. At the sight of the two men, she grinned and blew a large spit bubble in their direction before waving her arms excitedly and babbling a little baby laugh.

Relief flooded across Dean’s face as the tension lines in his forehead relaxed and his shoulders dropped on a deep exhale.  

“Ok, alright, she’s ok. Uh, thanks, man,” Dean said.

Cas sensed there was something else there, an underlying thread of stress that Dean didn’t know how to voice.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped my boundaries by taking care of her last night. I’m aware you don’t know who I am. I can assure you, my only intention was to help and give you the chance to continue sleeping.”

Dean studied Cas, eyes darting over his face as though he was trying to judge Cas’s sincerity. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. His features softened and he patted Cas on the shoulder as he stepped fully into the room towards the waiting baby. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I really do. Sorry if I seem a little paranoid. This little girl means the world to me. Not to mention the fact that my brother would murder me in my sleep if anything happened to her.” He picked up Sarah and cradled her up against his chest.

“Where is your brother now?” Cas asked.

“He and his wife, Jess, both work at the hospital. They were on shift last night and with this latest storm, I doubt they’ll be able to get home to pick up this little angel until at least tomorrow. Good thing this gal loves staying with her Uncle Dean, huh?”

He smiled and looked down at the baby who made a small fist and bopped him on the face in response.

The term “angel” seemed to spark some distant memory in Cas, but the flicker of recognition was gone before he could truly grasp it. Instead he watched as Dean lay Sarah out on a baby blanket that covered the comforter on the small guest bed.

“Little Miss Princess here is just letting me know she needs to be changed. Pronto.  You mind looking in that bag over there,” Dean tilted his head to indicate a large, mint green, quilted bag in the corner, “and grabbing me a diaper and the box of wipes?”

Cas reached over and handed Dean the items he needed, watching as the other man deftly took care of the diaper and disposed of the old one.

“You’re very good at that,” he observed.

“Yeah, well, I basically raised Sammy, so I’ve had the practice. Trust me, his diapers were like nuclear waste compared to Sarah here.” He tickled the baby’s exposed tummy, earning him a grin and flailing limbs before he resnapped her onsie.

“Sammy is your brother?”

“Yeah, but don’t let him catch you calling him that. He only lets me get away with it because he just finally gave up trying to get me to stop. And he likes it better than Samantha. Which he totally deserves, because the dude will not cut his hair.” Dean grinned fondly, clearly picturing his brother in his mind’s eye.

Why don’t you go ahead and head towards the kitchen while I get Sarah dressed for the day? You’re welcome to anything in the fridge if you’re absolutely starving. I’m pretty sure there’s some cereal in the pantry too. If you can wait half an hour though, I can whip up some eggs and sausage.”

“I think I can wait,” Cas said, even as his stomach gave an audible rumble.

Dean grinned. “Your choice. Though if you are waiting, and you wanna take a shower, there’s some extra towels in the cabinet over the toilet.”

Cas nodded and headed in the direction of the bathroom. A shower sounded nice, even though he had no recollection of having ever had one.

Standing under the warm spray, Cas let his thoughts wander. How had he ended up in Dean’s front yard? Who was he? What was this mission that he knew was vitally important for him to complete? The water gave him no answers and he didn’t know where to begin looking. According to Dean, they would be stuck in the house for at least another day, so he wasn’t likely to run into anyone who knew him. He could only hope his memory would return to him on its own.

When he stepped out onto tile warmed by the steam, he was surprised to find fresh clothes sitting on the counter next to the sink. Grateful for Dean’s generosity, he put them on.

Fully clothed, Cas opened the door to the hallway and was immediately bombarded with the smells of Dean’s cooking. If his stomach had complained before, now it was throwing a temper tantrum as it was teased with the aroma of slowly cooking meat.  

He followed his nose and found Dean, humming a lively tune under his breath, hips dancing a little from side to side as he entertained Sarah, who sat in a bouncing contraption with brightly colored toys attached to the front, while simultaneously moving eggs expertly around a skillet.  A pile of sausages already sat on the table next to a jar of syrup. The sight, so simple and domestic, warmed something inside Castiel, drawing him into the room and pinging another memory he couldn’t quite grasp.  

“There he is!” Dean said brightly. “Feel better now that you’ve had a chance to clean up?”

“Much. Thank you, Dean. And thank you for everything else too. I mean -”

Dean interrupted Cas with a wave of his hand. “Dude, don’t even start. What was I supposed to do, let you die of hypothermia in my front yard? What kind of person does that? I’m just being a decent human being.” He smirked, continuing, “And, since you haven’t murdered me in my sleep yet or robbed me blind, I’m feeling ok with the outcome.”

“Well,” Cas said, smiling in return, “it would make for a pretty difficult getaway with the roads blocked in by snow.”

“Exactly!” Dean said, as though his point was officially and irrevocably proven.

Cas shook his head.

“Go ahead and take a seat, man. Eggs are almost done.  Little Miss over here has been dancing up a storm to my Christmas carols.”

“Is that what you were humming earlier?” Cas asked curiously.

Dean stopped moving the eggs and stared at Cas for several seconds. Even Sarah stilled, her legs hanging from their suspended state and her mouth dropped into a little O shape as her eyes darted back and forth between the men.

“Dude, I know I’m hardly record worthy, but don’t tell me I was that bad?”

“On the contrary, Dean. I thought you sounded very good. Your sense of rhythm is excellent. I just didn’t recognize the tune.”

“Jingle Bell Rock? Are you seriously telling me you’ve never heard Jingle Bell Rock?” Dean asked incredulously.

“It’s very likely I have,” Cas said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically, “but we’ve already established my memory is somewhat faulty at the moment. Although,” he held up a finger as though making a point in a lecture, “I can at least remember the function of a toothbrush this morning!”

Dean laughed as he sat the plate full of fresh eggs on the table next to the sausages and indicated that Cas should help himself. “That’s good, man. Not gonna lie, I was a little worried about that last night. Wasn’t so sure letting you go back to sleep was really a good idea.”

Cas cocked his head to the side and squinted in confusion.

“You might have had a concussion. Probably likely actually. My brother would have had a coronary if he found out I didn’t keep you conscious for longer. He’s probably still going to tear me a new one for not at least calling him for advice.”

Cas frowned, he found himself both baffled and somewhat irritated that anyone would question Dean’s skills. It was obvious he was a natural caregiver; not only from how he had taken Cas in the night before, but in his ease in dealing with his niece.

Dean, unaware of Cas’s reaction, continued on.

“So, you’re likely going to be stuck here for a day or two. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve got plenty of supplies. We won’t run out of food or anything. If the power goes out for some reason, I’ve got a generator too.”

“I don’t have a problem with that. Honestly, even if I could leave, I don’t know where I would go,” Cas said.

“So you still really don’t remember anything?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head looking down at the open palms of his hands as they sat in his lap as though they held all the answers.

“No. While I’m less...confused than I was last night, I don’t remember any personal details beyond what I told you when you found me.”

“Huh, whelp, I guess we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get there. I didn’t notice a wallet or anything in your coat when I laid it out to dry last night.” Dean held up a hand in a placating gesture as Cas opened his mouth to speak. “I swear, I wasn’t out to rob you, just looking for some kind of identification that might help you out. There wasn’t anything there.”

“I suppose that will make things more difficult.”

“Maybe just a bit. When the roads clear out, we’ll make a stop over to see Jody. She’s the local sheriff and an old friend. She can take your picture and run it against her missing persons reports. Who knows, she might get a hit pretty quick. Guy like you? Dressed like you were? Someone’s gotta be missing you.”

Something about the way Dean had said, “guy like you,” rubbed Cas the wrong way. Not that he thought Dean was trying to be insulting or demeaning in any way, rather the opposite. As though he didn’t warrant himself the same level of concern from his loved ones. Surely Sam and Jess, whom he spoke of so fondly, would miss him? Something told him it wouldn’t be a good question to ask and he kept his thoughts to himself.

“So what did you plan to do today, before I so unexpectedly dropped onto your doorstep?” Cas asked instead, working to keep his voice light.

Dean laughed and leaned back in his chair, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Well, as it happens, I was going to go to work.”

“But, I thought we couldn’t get out?” Cas asked

“True, but lucky for me, my work is just in my workshop out back. I’m gonna have to shovel a path clear, and that’ll be a bitch, but I have a heater out there, along with a coffee pot and a radio. I’d planned on taking Sarah out there and trying to get a little bit of work done. Got a few orders I need to fill for Christmas.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it that you do exactly?” Cas asked, curiosity piqued.

“Help me shovel the path and I’ll show you,” Dean said, waggling his eyebrows.

Laughing, Cas agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas worked next to Dean without complaint. They didn’t speak much at all really as they shoveled the two feet of snow that had fallen the night before onto the the piles Dean had already made the week prior. In some places, the drifts were as tall as they were. Whenever he could, Dean pushed the snow outward, away from their walkway, with his shovel to keep it from collapsing back in.  

Once they reached the door of the workshop, Dean was surprised to find he was nervous to share this part of himself with Cas. Very few people had been in here. Sam, Sarah, and Benny once or twice. Sarah was probably in here the most and she was too young to form an opinion. Sam and Benny never bothered to look around. They only came in when they needed him for something. Otherwise, this was Dean’s private space.

He knew though, that Cas wouldn’t just idly glance around. He would inspect. Peer at every piece Dean had worked on, good and bad, saved and discarded. Even though Cas didn’t seem the judgemental type, there was more inside these four wall than stuff Dean sold to make a living.  

“So, ah, I’m just gonna go in and turn the heat on, get it warmed up before I go get Sarah. She likes to hang out here with me while I work.” He smiled as he thought of his niece. He couldn’t help it really. He was so gone on that little girl.

“I even had a little pair of earmuffs made for her to help block out the noise when I use the heavier equipment. Not gonna lie man, they’re pretty adorable.”

Cas smiled patiently, the effort of having shoveled the walk clearly showing in his face.

As Dean pushed inside the space, he flicked the switch on, Cas following close behind.  Standing off to the side, Dean shoved his hands in his back pocket so he couldn’t fiddle with them as he waited for Cas’s reaction.

Cas’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly as he took in the walls and rafters surround him.  

Almost every wall and beam was covered in some way with Dean’s work. A long bench along one side held pieces in various states of completion. Large shelves lined the back of a small nook and were filled with little pieces that were never intended to sell, just things to keep his hands busy while he thought through various problems.

The air smelled of sawdust, pine, and cedar. A large rotary saw stood at one end of the room, while other, smaller tools were carefully put away on a large peg board behind it.

“You’re a carpenter,” Cas said, his voice filled with awe that frankly surprised Dean. No one had ever had that reaction to his work before.

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah. Uh, feel free to take a look around. Just don’t touch anything on that bench,” he said, pointing to the area where he had several works in progress. “I’m, I’m gonna go get Sarah.”

He was almost out the door when he remembered to double back and flip on the switch on an ancient kerosene heater. It was old, but it did the job and he knew within minutes, the place would be toasty warm. He’d learned from experience to pay attention to how close it got to his work, but as long as he was careful, it was more logical than a fancy system.

When he got back and had settled Sarah in the playpen he kept out here for her, he gestured to a large headboard leaning against one wall. The main outline had been cut, but he still needed to sand it down, shape the posts and add detailing at the focal point before staining it.  

“This is my biggest project at the moment,” he said. “Eventually, it will have a matching footboard too, but I wanted to get this one done first to make sure I’m happy with the pattern before starting that bit.”

Cas nodded.

“Your art is beautiful, Dean.”

Dean snorted. “It’s hardly art, Cas. It’s just something I picked up from my Uncle Bobby before he passed away. I never was very good in school. Working with wood gave my hands something to do and kept me outta trouble. That’s all.”

Cas’s stare seemed to bore into him and he couldn’t help but shift under the scrutiny.

“Dean, you have a clear talent. A skill many would envy. I assure you, what you are creating here is art. It’s something you’ve clearly put your heart into.”

Dean wanted to shrug and say it was just a job, but it wasn’t true and he didn’t think Cas would buy it. He knew people liked his stuff. At least enough to buy it, which was a plus for him. It kept him fed. But no one had ever gone so far as to call it art. And not even Sam had commented on how much pride Dean put into each piece. It was just something he’d always done, ever since they’d come to live with Bobby when he was nine and their father had up and vanished on them for the last time.

The first time Bobby had been called to the school to meet with the principal and he’d seen Dean’s black eye, his surrogate father had hauled him by the scruff of his neck up the front porch and tossed him down into a chair.  Dean had cringed back, expecting a blow, not unlike others he’d received from his real father. Instead, Bobby had plunked a small chunk of driftwood in his lap and handed him a knife.

It wasn’t something that required any kind of diploma - which was good, because Dean hadn’t even managed to make it through high school - and so it didn’t really count as a career. It wasn’t anything special. That was Sammy. Sammy who’d graduated valedictorian from their high school, who’d gone to college thinking he wanted to be a lawyer and came out a doctor instead. He’d met Jess during his residency and now they had a beautiful baby girl.

Dean was happy to be a part of it, even if it was tangentially.  

Yet here was Cas, staring at him as though Dean’s work, as though Dean, was worth something. For a minute, Dean let the feeling wash over him.  

“Thanks, man,” he said, clearing his throat. “You, uh, you’re welcome to keep looking around, you can play with Sarah, or if you’d like, I can get you some tools and a spare bit of wood if you wanna try something out?”

Cas’s eyes brightened and his shoulders, which had been tight, low and curled inward during his defense of Dean’s work, perked up. “I would love to try,” he said.

Dean nodded and went over to where he kept a few smaller chunks that often came off the larger pieces like the one he was working on. These discards were usually what he made his own little figurines out of.

Satisfied with the sample he’d found, he pulled his knife out from his back pocket where he always kept it, and flipped the blade open.  He passed the knife to Cas, handle side first. “Remember, this is very sharp. You’re actually less likely to cut yourself if you don’t have to fight through the wood as hard like you would with a dull blade, but if you do slip, you run the risk of cutting deeper, so be careful, ok?”  

Cas looked at the blade seriously before shifting towards Dean’s face. “I understand,” he said.

Dean gave him a lopsided grin. “Good. Now here’s your wood. Don’t start cutting right away. Feel the wood out. See if there’s a shape in there waiting to get out.”

He handed the piece of wood over and moved towards his own project flipping on the radio to his favorite station as he went and watching Cas out of the corner of his eye.

The afternoon passed peacefully. Dean lost himself in the wood in front of him, resurfacing occasionally to check on Sarah, making sure she stayed fed and changed as needed, and indulging in a few games of peekaboo. Fortunately, he didn’t need to use any of the heavy equipment today so he didn’t have to worry about what to do with her come nap time.  She was just as content to fall asleep in her playpen as she was in her crib. He just turned the volume down on the radio so it wouldn’t disturb her.

Cas seemed even more focused than he was, only taking a break when Dean went into the house to get them both sandwiches for lunch. He refused to show Dean what he was working on. With as much whittling as Cas seemed to be doing, Dean had started to wonder if the man was making a toothpick.

He was putting the finishing touches on one of the posts when his stomach rumbled loudly through the workshop. Even Cas looked up at him startled, before bursting out laughing.

“I do believe that’s our signal for calling it a day,” Cas said. He looked down at the object in his hands grimacing.

“I don’t think carpentry is going to be my calling,” he said ruefully.  

Cas held out the now significantly smaller piece of wood. It looked like a… Well, it looked like a mangled piece of wood.

“Don’t worry, Cas. You should have seen my first piece. I threw it in a lake and the lake spat it back out it was so ugly. Whittling is something that takes a lot of practice.”

Cas’s smile was small, but genuine. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up comically and he patted his belly as he moved to pick up Sarah. “Now! We decide what we’re going to have for supper!”

Cas laughed at his antics and Dean warmed a little inside.

A quick glance through his fridge and freezer yielded several options, but not much that could be thrown together quickly. Even though Dean usually preferred to cook from scratch, every now and then, desperate times called for desperate measures. This was one of those times.

Pulling out a frozen cheese pizza, he looked in the fridge to see what kinds of toppings he could add to it.

“Hey, Cas, you like mushrooms?” he asked, standing up to look over the door of the fridge at the man still sitting at the table.

Cas smirked, “No memory, Dean. I have no idea. Surprise me and I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Dean huffed a laugh, impressed the guy could be so nonchalant about not even knowing what kinds of food he liked. Dean was pretty sure he’d be freaking out in Cas’s shoes.

As it turned out, Cas did like mushrooms, but he wasn’t overly fond of onion on his pizza. So he learned the art of picking them off without losing too much cheese in the end. Dean tried not to find it endearing that Cas wound up just as messy as Sarah by the end of dinner with both of their grins equally big.  

 _Don’t get used to it, Dean_. He told himself sternly. _This isn’t the kind of life you were meant to have._ Besides. Eventually Cas would need to move on. Everyone always did. And a guy like him probably had a whole family waiting and worried for him. Especially this time of year.

But Dean reasoned, it couldn’t hurt to be a little selfish until then.


	5. Chapter 5

It took another two days for the plows to reach Dean’s street.

“Usually it doesn’t take this long. It’s Kansas after all, we’re used to snow,” Dean told Cas. “It’s just this is really early in the season and it’s back to back storms. Plows weren’t ready yet. ‘Sides, we’re hardly on a main road. Low priority.”

Cas just nodded. He supposed it made sense. It didn’t really matter to him one way or the other. Despite the gnawing anxiety about a mission he still couldn't remember, he was perfectly content to stayed snowed in with Dean. The more he learned about the man, the more he admired him.  

In addition to being kind, smart, funny, and an excellent cook, Dean was clearly devoted to his family. Not only was it obvious in how he doted on Sarah as though she were his own, but he never wasted an opportunity to brag about his brother as well.

It bothered Cas that such adulation was almost always in conjunction with some praise or compliment he had given Dean. If Cas commented on how well informed Dean was while they watched the news, the response would inevitably be, “Nah, that’s Sammy. I just pick up the things he won’t shut up about.” Or when they briefly lost power and Dean had the generator up and running in less than ten minutes and Cas expressed how glad he was to have wound up snowed in with someone clearly well prepared, Dean just shrugged, “It’s just common sense, Sam’s the one you’d really want to be snowed in with. He’d be prepared and be a good conversationalist.”

Cas found Dean to be a more than adequate conversationalist, but he quickly learned not to argue the point.

For his part, Dean had decided that Cas’s memory loss was the perfect opportunity to educate Cas on popular culture and went about his self-appointed task with enthusiasm. Over the past few days, whenever they weren’t in Dean’s workshop, Dean, Cas, and Sarah could be found on the couch as they watched the original Star Wars trilogy, Lord of the Rings, and most of the first season of Game of Thrones. Dean had even filled him in on the backstories, sharing what was different in the books and the movies and discussing why a particular change was important or not.

Cas found he very much enjoyed watching Dean passionately talk about the things he loved, without inhibitions. He seemed to come to life when sharing his joy with those around him.

By Thursday their isolated idle had come to an end, and they awoke to clear asphalt and a pounding on the front door.

Dean, ever the early riser, was already awake and dressed, hurrying to the door to try and stop the knocking before it woke Cas, still crashing on the couch. It was too late, and by the time Dean had turned the handle, Cas was sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Aware that he wasn’t wearing anything more than a borrowed shirt and boxers from Dean, he slipped out of the bed, grabbing the jeans Dean had basically gifted him, and hurried to the bathroom to make himself presentable.

“Mornin’, Sam,” Cas heard Dean say as he shut the bathroom door. He tried to tell himself not to listen in, but he’d heard so much about Dean’s brother over the past few days, he couldn’t help it. Nonetheless, he only heard snatches as he got ready.

“- believe you took in a stranger, Dean,” Sam said, his voice tight with either exasperation or irritation. It was hard to tell without being able to see Sam’s face.

“What, I should have just left him in the snow?” Dean asked.

“No, but,” Cas lost the thread of the conversation as he turned on the water to wet his toothbrush. “- Sarah in the house,” Sam finished.

“For heaven’s sake, Sam. Cas is a -” Cas missed Dean’s response as he spat into the sink, “- great with Sarah. Really, you’re stressing over nothing. Besides, you think for a minute I would put Sarah in danger?”

Cas’s chest warmed a little to hear Dean defend him, though he felt bad that he seemed to be the source of tension between Dean and the brother he cared so much about. Wiping his face on the hand towel by the sink, he tried his best to tame his hair before stepping out to introduce himself.

When he opened the door, both brothers were standing in front of the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. Sam, a veritable giant of a man - not just in height, but in sheer stature as well - held Sarah against his shoulder, bouncing her gently in that way adults always seemed to unconsciously do when holding a baby, while he stared at his brother in frustration.

Dean turned towards him as he moved into the hallway, his tense expression breaking into a smile, the lines of stress around his eyes melting into softer creases of laughter.

“And there he is!” he said. “Cas, come over here and prove to my brother you’re not a complete nutcase.”

Sam shot Dean a look that Cas decided must be what Dean had called one of his “bitch faces” before turning back to Cas with a more neutral expression in place. He held out his hand to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Sam Winchester, though I suppose you’ve already figured that out.”

Castiel nodded as he took Sam’s hand gratefully. “Nice to meet you, Sam, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Cas. Wish I could promise you that I’m not a nutcase or a serial killer, but as Dean might have told you, I just don’t remember. I would like to assure you that my intentions here are harmless. Your brother,” Castiel nodded his head in Dean’s direction, “saved my life and was kind enough to give me shelter during the storm. I’m extremely grateful to him, and to Sarah, for their hospitality.”

“Dean mentioned that, yeah, but I thought he was just exaggerating like usual. You really don’t remember anything?”

Cas shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Better than the first night,” Dean said, “Dude couldn’t even remember how to use a toothbrush.”

Sam frowned, pulling a small penlight out of his back pocket and transferring Sarah to his brother. “And you didn’t think that was cause to call an ambulance to have him checked out? He could have a concussion.”

Dean shot Cas a smirk and rolled his eyes behind his brother’s back, his face clearly saying, “I told you so,” before turning away from them with Sarah.

“Dean’s care was more than adequate. I’m sure emergency responders had more urgent cases to take care of than mine,” Cas said as Sam directed the light into his eyes, checking the dilation.

“Dude, I know the standard signs of a concussion. I’ve been watching him all weekend. Aside from the memory thing, he hasn’t complained of headaches, he hasn’t been dizzy or lightheaded, the television hasn’t bothered him, he’s had no trouble focusing. Trust me, if I’d seen anything, I’d have called.”

Sam frowned. “Dean, you’re hardly qualified to make any kind of diagnoses.”

Cas found himself growing impatient with Sam, even though Dean seemed to take his attitude in stride.

“Sam, I assure you, I’m fine. Everything Dean said is true.”

Obviously outnumbered and evidently satisfied with his cursory evaluation, Sam sighed and straightened to his full height. “Fine. I give up. If you do start to feel any symptoms, go to the hospital right away.”

Cas nodded, biting his tongue to keep from further stressing that he was perfectly fine and such advice really wasn’t necessary.

“So, what do you plan to do next, Cas?” Sam asked.

Cas tilted his head to the side in confusion at the question. “I’m not sure what you mean, Sam.”

“Well, now that the roads are clear, you can’t really stay here anymore. Do you have any plans? Any clues as to how to figure out who you are?”

The words struck like a blow to Cas. He knew Sam was right. He’d overstayed his welcome in Dean’s home. Dean probably couldn’t wait to get rid of him and to get his clothes back. But Cas wasn’t ready to leave. No, he didn’t have any clues. Nor did he have any money for a hotel or for clothes aside from the ones he wore when Dean found him.

He supposed he would have to get a job.

Cas was so lost in thought, he didn’t immediately notice Dean’s angry expression as he rounded on Sam, “What the hell, man?” He was obviously trying to keep his voice as even as possible so as not to startle Sarah, whom he still held against his hip. Facing Cas, his expression softened, “Cas, man, don’t worry, I’m not kicking you out. You can stay as long as you need to.”

“Dean,” Sam started, rolling his eyes.

“No, Sam, look. Now that the roads are clear, I figured I’d take him down to see Jody at the station. She can look in the system or something to see if anyone’s reported him missing. If they have?” Dean paused, taking a breath and adjusting Sarah slightly, “If the have, great. If not, I’m not turning him out onto the street.”  

Cas simultaneously felt a great wave of relief and a feeling of extreme discomfort as the brothers discussed him as though he wasn’t there.

“Dean, I appreciate your generosity,” Cas steeled himself for his next comment, not really wanting to admit it, “but perhaps Sam is right. You don’t know me. You’ve been kind enough to give me shelter this long. I can’t impose on you any longer.”

Dean seemed to realize Cas was still there, angling himself to include Cas in the conversation again. “Dude, you have no I.D., no cash, no clothes - what are you planning on doing? You aren’t gonna be able to find a place. Besides, you’re good company. I like having you around. Nice to have someone actually appreciate my cooking for a change.”

Cas cringed as Dean spoke what he knew to be true. For all the valid reasons Dean had listed, Cas knew for him the biggest was that he too found Dean to be good company.  He wasn’t ready to relinquish that yet.

He could also admit a certain level of anxiety about trying to face the world outside with no recollection of who he was. He wasn’t sure quite how to express his gratitude towards Dean. So he simply said, “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s face split into a brilliant smile and Cas could actually believe that maybe his staying wasn’t a burden to Dean and he really did want Cas there.

Sam pursed his lips as though he wanted to say something else, but decided against it. Instead, he shook his head and turned to Dean. “Are you still planning on coming tomorrow afternoon to play for the kids up in pediatrics?”

“Yeah man, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it this week. Strange circumstances, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t wanna promise the kids something and not have you follow through.”

Cas couldn’t detect a change in Dean’s expression, but he noticed his shoulders tighten a bit and a note of tension entered his voice, “I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

He wondered a bit about the exchange. Everything he’d learned about Dean made him think of Dean as responsible and hardworking. If he made a promise, Cas couldn’t see him breaking it. Yet Sam seemed to act as though Dean made a habit of not following through on his obligations. Cas made a note of asking Dean about it later. In the meantime, he was more interested in the new detail he’d just learned about Dean.

“Play?” he asked. “Do you play an instrument, Dean?”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam beat him to it. “Dean toys around with the guitar a bit. He’s fairly decent and he usually helps us out at the hospital by volunteering to play for the in-patient kids staying for various reasons.”

Cas thought he saw something like hurt flash through Dean’s eyes at Sam’s phrasing. Wanting to do something to chase it away he said, “That’s very kind of you, Dean. I didn’t know you played, I’d love to hear you sometime.”

Dean’s ears turned a few shades pinker as he replied, “It’s just something I tinker with every now and then,” brushing off the praise in a way that Cas had become accustomed to by now.

“Alright, well, I probably oughta get this little girl home,” Sam said, reaching out to take Sarah back from his brother. “Jess has been climbing the walls without her.”

Dean smiled, “Well, she’s always welcome at Uncle Dean’s.” He gave her feathery blonde hair a kiss before passing her off.

Sam nodded, “I’ll see you later, Dean.” Bobbing his head in Cas’s direction he added, “Cas, it was nice to meet you. If you’re staying with Dean, I guess I’ll be seeing you later too.”

“It was nice to meet you, Sam. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

In the silence left behind when Sam shut the door, Cas felt uncomfortable around Dean for the first time. Unsure of what he wanted to say, he opened and closed his mouth several times before taking a deep breath and looking off to the side, not daring to meet the other man’s eyes.

“Dean, I, thank you. You really have done more than enough for me. I don’t want to burden you…”

Dean held up both hands, cutting off whatever Cas had been about to say. “Cas, don’t. I meant what I said. I’m sorry about Sam. He…” Dean stopped to marshal his thoughts and Cas looked up to face him as he spoke. “Sam doesn’t remember what it was like. Our mom, she died when I was four and he was just a baby. My dad didn’t take it so well.”

Cas found himself reaching out to touch Dean’s arm, to try and offer some solace, but he stopped just shy of actually doing so. Dean offered him a soft, half smile that tugged at Cas’s heart before continuing.

“He moved us around a lot. Mom, well, she died in a fire caused by a candle too close to a curtain. The house was pretty badly damaged. Dad sold what was left. Every few months we moved from motel to motel. Never settled down long enough for me to even really have time to get used to the smell of the sheets.” Dean huffed a laugh. “What a weird thing to remember, right? Yeah, so, anyway, he was rarely around. Usually left me in charge of Sammy while he went out to do, I don’t know what. Probably spend whatever little money he was making in a bar. Sometimes he was gone for a coupl’a days at a time.”  

Castiel wanted to say something to help wipe away the melancholy in Dean’s face, but he suspected this was hard enough for Dean to get out without interruptions, so he stayed quiet, keeping his eyes trained on Dean, offering support by his presence alone.

“By the time I was nine, Sammy was four, Dad dropped us off at Uncle Bobby’s. Up and left and never came back. Never knew what happened to him.”

“Dean…”

“So, yeah,” Dean said, speaking over Cas, “Sammy doesn’t really get what it’s like to be without a home. I mean, he’s got vague memories of a motel here or there, but by the time he really started being aware of what was going on, Bobby had given us a place to actually stay, ya’ know? And that’s a good thing. I’m really glad about that. Kid deserved to be a kid. And he’s hella smart. Moving schools every couple months could have really hurt that.”

 _Like it hurt you?_ Cas wanted to ask. Still, he held his tongue, knowing Dean would bypass it, shrug it off as though it didn’t matter.

“But I get it, man. I’m not gonna toss you out to live in some seedy motel. Heck,” Dean plastered on a big smile, and met Cas’s eyes. “It might be a non-issue anyway. We might head down to Jody’s and she’ll be able to tell you exactly who you are, get you back home to whoever’s missing you.”

Cas decided he was imagining that Dean’s smile looked a little too forced, his eyes a little more saddened by the last thought. It was likely nothing more than wishful thinking on his part. That Dean actually wanted him to stay, rather than just doing for Cas what he would have done for anyone else. So he smiled back, “Maybe so.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized a timeline error in the last chapter and have fixed it. Cas fell on the first Sunday of advent - not on a Thursday. That makes his meeting with Sam and the start of this chapter fall on a Thursday, not Monday. 
> 
> (Honestly, I'm not even sure anyone would have noticed, but it bugged me)

Dean had known at some point the roads were going to clear and he was going to have to venture out into the real world again. It was stupid, but he liked the way Cas thought of him, untarnished by everyone else’s opinion. Cas didn’t know him very well yet, and he looked at Dean as though he was someone worthy of admiration rather than someone who was nothing more than a high school dropout who had never made anything of his life. Once Cas saw him in context of other people, he knew that would change pretty quickly.  

Sam had been the first. While Dean couldn’t help the sense of gratitude he felt towards Cas for defending him to his brother, he knew the other man would soon see that Sam was hardly alone. If enough people thought of him as little more than an uneducated grunt, there had to be a reason. Cas would see that too.

Maybe that was why he’d told Cas about his parents. Let Cas know from the get go how messed up Dean was. Not even his own Dad had wanted him. Dean wasn’t sure if he was trying to push Cas away now, by showing him his ugly past, or testing the man to see if he would stay anyway. Dean had never told anyone else before. The only people that knew about how he’d moved around as a kid were Bobby and Sam. Bobby had passed away two years ago - shot in a robbery gone bad - and Sam never talked about their early childhood. Dean was never sure if he just didn’t remember enough or if he was ashamed. He’d never asked.

To his surprise, Cas had only seemed grateful that he Dean wasn’t going to kick him out. He didn’t seem to care about the rest. Maybe Dean had a chance after all. Really, there was only one way to find out. It was time to face the music.  

Clapping his hands together, he raised his eyebrows at Cas, “You ready to go see Jody now?”

Cas looked at him a little sheepishly, “I was actually hoping maybe I could eat some breakfast first?”

Dean stared at him for a second before chuckling. He’d been so wrapped up in Sam and access to the real world again, he’d completely forgotten about breakfast.

“Yeah, man, that’s fine. I’ll whip up some pancakes, then we can head down to the station. And hey, this means you actually get to ride in Baby!”

Cas’s eyes lit up at the mention of pancakes and he smiled a little wider, “I look forward to it Dean. You’ve told me so much about your car, I’m sure it’s going to be quite an experience.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, trying to determine if he was being serious or sarcastic. He opted for serious. Who wouldn’t be enthusiastic about getting a chance to ride in a car as sexy as his?

He moved towards the kitchen, where he started pulling together the necessary ingredients while Cas took up what had become his customary residence on a stool lining the breakfast bar on the living room side to watch Dean cook.

He always seemed fascinated to observe the process of food going from separate ingredients into something entirely different. Dean had to admit, he found the other man’s interest entertaining. And he’d never had anyone enthuse over his cooking the way Cas did. It was gratifying. He’d always loved being in the kitchen. In a way, it was kind of like working in his woodshop. He took a raw material, and with a little bit of thought and effort, managed to turn it into something not only useful, but enjoyable. He liked the process, he just rarely had anyone appreciate the results.

Before long, they’d eaten and cleaned the kitchen. Both had run out of excuses to avoid town, though Dean was pretty sure he was imagining Cas’s reluctance. Why wouldn’t the guy jump at the chance to find out who he was? It must be maddening not to have any idea about his past.

Opening the door to the garage, Dean presented his baby to Cas with a flourish, sweeping his arm in front of him and saying, “Ta da!”

Cas laughed, but Dean could see him carefully taking in all the details of the car, as though he knew how much she meant to Dean and so he wanted to make sure he gave it all the attention he felt Dean himself deserved. It was almost humbling.

“It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala, right?” Cas asked, looking at Dean for confirmation.

Dean nodded, impressed that Cas remembered. He’d spent a good hour in the workshop one day regaling Cas on the finer points about this car and what made her so superior from the newer models, which were honestly pieces of crap. He hadn’t really thought Cas had been paying much attention though.

“Yeah. My dad left her behind with me and Sam. Bobby owned a salvage yard and he’d told her to scrap her, that she was nothing but a piece of junk. I was just a kid, but I begged Bobby not to. I don’t know. For a long time, this was the only thing I could really call home, y’know? All those times we’d moved, this car was always the same.” Dean ran a hand over the top of his open door frame while Cas watched him closely. “Dunno why, but Bobby held on to her for me. When I got my learner’s permit, I started to fix her up. By the time I had my license, she was road worthy again.” He grinned over at Cas. “Still looked like a piece of shit, but she drove.”

Once they’d slid inside and Cas had a chance to look around the interior, Dean couldn’t contain himself any longer. “So, what do you think?”

The other man cocked his head in a way that had become familiar to Dean over the past few days. His brow furrowed slightly as he ran his hand over the dash. “She’s - a part of you,” Cas said cryptically.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected to hear. “Yeah, I guess she is.” Clapping Cas on the shoulder, Dean smiled and turned the key in the ignition, waggling his eyebrows at the roar of the engine, making Cas laugh as he backed carefully out of the driveway. The roads might have been scraped clear, but there were still some dangerous icy patches to watch for.

Neither man spoke much on the way to the station, Dean keeping his eyes trained to the road and feigning a greater concentration on his driving than he actually had. A good percentage of his brain power was spent psyching himself up for the fact that it was very likely Jody would have an immediate hit on Cas’s identity and the man would be leaving in a few hours to return to the life he already had. One that didn’t include him.

Less than twenty minutes later, he was parked in front of the sheriff’s station next to Jody’s cruiser. He looked over at Cas expectantly. “Ok, man, moment of truth, you ready?”

Cas stared out the window in front of him and nodded, not meeting Dean’s eyes. He actually looked a little pale.

Opening his car door, Dean stepped out into the frigid air, waiting for Cas to follow. “C’mon, Jody should have had a chance to get her morning coffee already. Plus, I’d bet you Sam has already called her and she’s probably already run your name.

Sure enough, Jody barely glanced up at them before standing, walking around her desk and extending her hand to Cas with a smile. “Mornin’, I’m Sheriff Jody Mills, you’re Cas I presume?” she asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and hid his smirk at Cas’s startled expression.

“Yes, ma’am. At least I think so,” he said, more timidly than Dean had heard him since they’d met. For the first time, Dean wondered if Cas was actually scared about finding out who he was.

Jody just nodded and tilted her head back towards her desk to indicate her computer. “I’ve run your name and the basic description Sam gave me to see if I can get any hits. Now that you’re here, I’ll take a picture so we can run it through facial recognition software, see if we get any more results.”

A glance in Cas’s direction seemed to confirm Dean’s suspicions. He looked positively intimidated by Jody’s efficient efforts to get to the root of his identity. Trying to lighten the mood, Dean grinned at the sheriff, “Facial recognition software,” he said, smirking. “Awfully fancy equipment there Jody. Sounds like you might have seen one too many episodes of _Law and Order_.”

Jody rolled her eyes at Dean. “Lawrence might not be Kansas City, Dean, but it’s not like we’re a backwater town with no resources. Besides, the whole system’s hooked up to a nationwide database.”

Dean bit his cheek to keep from smiling too hard. It wasn’t often the sensible sheriff took the bait, but she never failed to defend her work. And with good reason. She excelled at what she did.

Turning back to Cas, she smiled at him kindly. “I haven’t got anything so far, but honestly, I haven’t had much to go on. Sam didn’t tell me your last name.”

Dean watched as Cas rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

“Honestly,” he said, “I can’t remember. I know Cas isn’t my real name either - or at least not my full name. Maybe it’s a nickname? It sounds familiar enough that it’s worked for now, but it doesn’t feel quite right.”

Jody’s brow furrowed and she leaned forward towards Cas, arms resting on her desk. “Do you remember anything at all? What you were doing that night? Where you were going? Any flashes that might help us?”

The hand at Cas’s neck dropped to his lap where he bunched it up into a loose fist around the fabric of his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic, ”I don’t remember anything else aside from the fact that I’m supposed to do something, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. Just that it’s very important.”

Jody’s gaze softened at Cas’s obvious distress. “Well, we can worry about all that later,” she said. “Why don’t we go ahead and get your picture taken and I’ll just keep you boys up to date on anything I find out?”

Dean didn’t even realize how tight his own shoulders had been up to that point. Until then, it hadn’t really sunk in that Cas wasn’t leaving yet. It was wrong for him to be so happy about that, but he was. He’d deal with his guilt over it later.

They sat in the car for a minute after Jody had let them go, neither one of them saying anything. Dean wasn’t sure what to do next until he noticed Cas pulling at the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, man. Since it looks like you’ll be staying with me for a while, why don’t we hit up the store and get you some clothes of your own?”

Cas’s head shot up, his eyes meeting Dean, blinking rapidly in surprise. “Dean,” he started, pausing before turning and glancing out the window. “I don’t have any money, remember?”

Dean snorted, “No shit, man. I’m telling you I’m happy to spot you so you can get some clothes that actually fit you.”

Cas turned his attention back to Dean’s face, where he narrowed his eyes and studied Dean with a laser focus as though trying to detect a lie. “Why would you do that for me, Dean?”

The question surprised him. “Because that’s what a decent human being would do?” he asked in return.

Cas shook his head and said without a hint of irony, “I’m starting to suspect that’s what a remarkable human being would do.”

Dean didn’t know what to do with that, where to even begin, so instead of responding, he just started the car and pointed it in the direction of the local Wal-Mart.

* * *

 

As expected after the whole city had been snowed in for over a week from not one, but two storms, the parking lot was packed with people resupplying. Add to that the holiday rush, with Christmas exactly four weeks away, and the place was a guaranteed mad house.

“At least we should be able to find some pretty good sales,” Dean said to Cas, grinning.

An hour and half later - a good thirty minutes of which had just been spent in line - Cas had three new pairs of pants, two sweaters, four shirts, a sturdy pair of boots, a winter coat, several pairs of socks and a week’s worth of boxers. He’d tried several times to insist he didn’t need that much, but Dean had just waved him off saying he had no intention of doing laundry every friggin’ day.  

Both men were frazzled after the experience and Dean decided rather than going straight back home, he would take them to the Roadhouse to get them both drinks. As pleasant as being snowed in with Cas had been, both were still feeling the after effects of cabin fever.

He nodded to Ellen behind the bar as they walked in. At her return acknowledgement, he shepherded Cas over towards his regular booth, guiding him with a hand hovering just over the small of the other man’s back, telling himself not to touch.

Cas was wearing some of his new clothes, including a pair of much tighter fitting jeans and a nice blue button up shirt. While Dean could admit that Cas had been attractive in his clothes, despite the fact they were at least a full size too big - and a ridiculous part of him was actually sad to see him in something not Dean's - Cas was downright hot in something that fit him properly.   

Despite how hectic the joint was, Ellen managed to make it over to their table in about five minutes with a beer pitcher and two glasses in hand.

“Afternoon boys. You must be Cas,” Ellen said, looking directly at the surprised man sitting across from Dean.

“Yes, but how -” Cas started.

“Sam,” Dean said by way of explanation. “Cas, meet Ellen. Ellen, Cas. Ellen owns the place.”

Ellen smiled. “Nice to meet you, Cas.” She turned her attention to Dean. “Jody told me, actually. She knows we’re short handed, seeing as how Jo has decided to assert her independence and run off again. She said you might be bringing him by today.” Turning her attention back to Cas, she continued, “She also suggested maybe you’d be interested in a part time job till you get a chance to straighten out your noggin’.”

Dean could see Cas visibly perk up at the suggestion.

“Dude, you know you don’t need to right? I’m not asking you to help out around the house or anything,” he said, trying to make sure Cas wasn’t jumping on the opportunity for a job just because he felt obligated or some shit.

“I know, Dean. But I can’t expect you to pay for everything I might need. You’ve been more than generous already. It will be nice to feel like I’m doing something to help myself too.”

Dean could understand that. It didn’t stop him from having to fight the part of his nature that told him it was his responsibility to take care of everyone under his wing.

Ellen’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two before looking directly at Cas again. “I take it you’re interested? You know you don’t even know what the job is.”

“It really doesn’t matter to me. I’m willing to do whatever you need. Though I don’t know if I have any experience in the food industry.”

“That don’t matter,” Ellen said. “I’m actually looking for one of two things. I need somebody willing to punch numbers and calculate receipts for me, and I need someone to help with the lifting when we get deliveries. Those come in every other day, and with the liquor shipments, the boxes can get pretty heavy.”

Cas looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing over at Dean as though seeking his opinion.

Dean just raised his hands, figuring it was better to let Cas make the call. If the guy wanted a job, he’d be happy to help him out however he needed it.

Cas looked back to Ellen. “I know for sure I’d be capable of helping with shipment. If you have the time to show me what needs to be done with the receipts, I’d be happy to give it a try, although I can’t promise to be any good at it.”

Dean doubted it would be a problem. He had a suspicion Cas would prove to be more than able to handle the numbers, even if he had no actual evidence to suggest that.

Nodding her head, Ellen pat Cas on the shoulder. “Excelent. You start tomorrow morning. Be at the back door by seven for the morning delivery. I’ll show you how to handle the receipts afterwards and we’ll see what you’re good for. Enjoy your beer boys. I’ll send Ash over in a few minutes to get your food order.” With that, she turned and thread her way back through the crowd to the bar.

Dean raised his glass to Cas who looked a little dazed at the sudden events. Giving his friend a small grin, he said, “Cheers, man. Look at you now, gainfully employed. You know you’re actually gonna have to get up in the morning now.”

Cas smiled back. “Thank you, Dean. I suspect I wouldn’t be so fortunate if it weren’t for you.”

Dean waved it off. “Jody and Ellen are both good people. Knowing me only helped because I’m apparently so damn predictable that Jody knew I’d bring you here almost first thing.”

Cas smiled, and Dean realized it was a sight he was growing more and more fond of and would do a lot to keep it in place.

 

* * *

 

The next morning dawned bitterly cold and Dean couldn’t help but laugh at Cas as he sat, hunched in on himself in the passenger side of the Impala, his hands wrapped tightly around the hot travel mug filled with coffee, sleep still fogging his eyes.

“You gonna make it, man?”

Cas shot Dean a baleful look. “It’s very cold, Dean.”

Damn he looked cute. Dean just chuckled while internally cursing himself. Do not get attached, Winchester.

Throwing the car into reverse, he backed out of the driveway and started them on the way to the Roadhouse for Cas’ first morning of work.

As Cas stepped out of the car, Dean leaned over and called out to him, “You should be done around the same time I need to be heading over to the hospital to play for the kids. Do you wanna hang out here till I’m done with that, or do you want me to pick you up and take you with me?”

Dean knew he didn’t imagine the happiness in Cas’ eyes, but he figured it was just actually having options for how to spend his day for a change rather than being completely dependent on Dean.

“I’d love to hear you play, Dean.”

Oh. Dean felt a balloon of warmth swell in his chest as Cas looked at him excitedly. He grinned back at Cas. “Alright then. I’ll pick you up around one.”

As Dean drove away, he reflected on how odd it was to be by himself again. While he’d spent large portions of his life alone, he’d quickly gotten used to having Cas around twenty-four/seven. Now he felt almost - unbalanced.

Once home, Dean stepped into his workshop and tried to prioritize what needed to get done that day. He’d finished the headboard the day before and he still needed to get started on the footboard, plus there was a commission for a small library ladder and a set of bookshelves, all that needed to get done in the next three weeks.

For some reason though, he couldn’t bring himself to focus on them. Instead, he reached over to the shelf where he’d last put the hunk of wood he’d been working on when Cas first showed up. He hadn’t gotten much further on it, but nothing calmed his mind better than letting his hands flow over a piece of wood, unless it was playing music.

Sam had told Cas that Dean “toyed” with the guitar. He supposed that was fair. It’s not like he played professionally or anything. Dean knew he wasn’t good enough, and he was happy with his life and what he did for a living. But when he played, it meant far more to him than just a way to pass the time.

Dean didn’t blame Sam for not understanding his need to play music. He was far too young to remember how their mother used to sing them to sleep, her voice lilting through not only the classics, from the Beatles to Peter, Paul and Mary, but in her own music too.

The guitar wasn’t like wood working for Dean. It’s not something Bobby or anyone else plopped into his hands as a way to keep him out of trouble. It wasn’t like the Impala - a discard from his father he’d begged Bobby to keep. This was something he’d sought out for himself. He’d worked extra hours for anyone who’d let him, Bobby, Ellen, hell, he’d even shoveled horse shit for Sonny on the farm he ran for troubled youths just outside of town, so he could save up for his own second hand guitar.

He’d begged a girl in his class, Robin, to give him lessons. She’d agreed on the condition that he teach her how to tune an engine. She was determined she wasn’t going to be dependent on her overprotective brothers, who insisted on treating her like the delicate flower she wasn’t once she got her own car. They’d let everyone think they were dating as a cover, but they’d really never been more than extremely close friends.

Since then, music had become another outlet for him. He loved woodworking, but it had become his job. There was a monetary value attached to much of what he did. Music was something just for himself and those he chose to share it with. Maybe that was another reason Sam didn’t take it very seriously. He just saw it as a hobby.

The excitement on Cas’ face was a new experience. It made Dean nervous to play in a way he’d never been before. He’d never faced someone with expectations about his music. What if Cas was disappointed? The last thing Dean wanted was to let him down.

Dean was so lost in his thoughts, letting his hands do what they would, that he didn’t notice the time until he felt his stomach gurgle with complaint. Blinking heavily, he looked up from what he was doing and shook himself out of his daze before turning to look at the clock on the wall.

Shit, it was already ten minutes past noon. He needed to get changed and grab his guitar so he could pick up Cas. He sat the little figurine down again, glancing at it one more time before he left.

And did a double take.

Shit.

Without consciously realizing it, Dean had started to carve the piece of wood into a human figure. Not a big deal, Dean had carved people before. He hadn’t even fully carved the figure out of the wood yet. The whole back was still encased in the original chunk. Overall, the wood measured about eight inches tall and six inches wide and most of the work that day had gone towards the intricate detailing of the face, which bore a striking resemblance to his recent houseguest.

Groaning, he ran his right hand down his face. ‘Cause that wasn’t creepy at all.

Not wanting to leave the figure out where Cas could find it, Dean decided to hide it in the back of one of the deeper drawers in his tool chest. Maybe Cas would appreciate it as a Christmas present and it wouldn’t come off as though Dean was rapidly becoming infatuated with the other man.

Guitar in hand, Dean tried to convince himself of the same thing as he drove to pick Cas up.


	7. Chapter 7

Cas found he enjoyed the physical exertion of unloading the shipment for the Roadhouse. According to Ellen, he was stronger than he looked. He took her word for it. All he knew was that he didn’t seem to tire easily and it was satisfying to see the physical evidence of the progress they made. And he could tell Ellen was grateful for the extra hands.

“Well, son, I reckon we got that knocked out in half the time it would have taken us without you. I think that’s the fastest we’ve ever finished with a truck,” she said, wiping a sleeve of her flanneled shirt across her brow. There was a smudge of dirt from the boxes along one of her cheekbones, but she had a vitalized look about her. “That’ll give us plenty of time to see what you can do with the books. Now that I’ve tested your brawn, it’s time to test your brain.”

Cas followed her into a back office and the two stayed there until Dean arrived at one to pick him up.

“Dean, your mystery friend here is a God-send,” Ellen said when they looked up to see him walk through the door.

Cas felt a flutter in the vicinity of his chest when he saw Dean across the room, but he stuttered and his cheeks warmed at Ellen’s praise. The task she’d set him wasn’t particularly difficult, as it turned out. It didn’t even really require any real math skills beyond the use of a calculator. It was more tedious organization that Ellen didn’t seem to really have the patience for.

Dean smiled, looking directly at Cas as he responded, “No arguments from me.” He turned to look at Ellen more directly, “I take it the job is working out then?”

Ellen nodded and patted Castiel on the back. “I’ll say it is. Cas, until you’re ready to move on, I can guarantee you that I’ll be happy to have you here.”

Although he was grateful to Ellen for her generosity, he wished people would stop indicating that he would have to, at some point, move on. He hated the feeling transiency, and he hated the fleeting look of hurt on Dean’s face he’d started to notice whenever the subject came up. There was no telling when or if his memories would ever return. Why push the issue?

The only thing that bothered him about his memory loss was that he’d been here for almost a week already and he was no closer to solving the mystery of his mission. He was starting to feel a growing sense of urgency about it, but there was nothing he could do. Every now and then he thought he had a flash, a touch of memory or emotion connected to it, but it never lasted long. Like the previous morning when he’d first gotten in the Impala. The interior of the car seemed to emit a warmth; it drew him to it, instantly making the Impala his second favorite place to be outside of Dean’s workshop. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t understand what it could have to do with whatever it was he was supposed to be accomplishing.

Frustrated, he shook his head, only to see Dean looking at him with a curious expression on his face.

“You alright, man?” Dean asked, hands tucked loosely into his front pockets as he took a step forward.

“Yes, Dean, thank you. Are you ready to go? We don’t want to be late for your concert.”

He saw Dean turn pink as Ellen started laughing.

“Concert, now is it?” she said, eyebrows arched in amusement as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the far wall. “So is this an exclusive engagement?”

Cas looked back and forth between the two confused. Did Ellen not know Dean played at the hospital?

“Be quiet, Ellen, you know it’s just my usual thing,” Dean said, turning to Cas. “Ignore her, man, really. She’s just poking fun because you’re making it sound like a bigger thing than it really is. Seriously. Don’t get your hopes up here. It’s basically gonna be me sitting in a chair, playing a few Christmas carols and any other requests here or there that the kids want to hear.”

Cas still failed to see why the the casualness of the setting made it any less important and wanted to press the issue further, but he could see that the discussion made Dean uncomfortable, so he dropped it. “I don’t think I’ll be disappointed,” Cas said instead. “Let me get my coat and I’ll be ready to go.”

Dean nodded and Cas went to grab his coat from a peg by the back door before they both headed out towards the Impala.

They shared some small talk as they drove to the hospital, Dean asking the standard questions about how Cas’s day had gone with Cas responding in kind.

“I suppose this probably isn’t the kind of work you’re used to,” Dean said after Cas had described the process of taking in a shipment, the efficiency of which actually impressed him.

Cas frowned and looked at Dean more closely. “It’s well established that I have no baseline from which to measure, ‘used to,’ as you say. But that aside, I’m not sure what you mean.”

Dean shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable and refusing to look Cas directly in the eye. “Well, physical labor, I guess. I mean, when I found you, you were wearing a suit and dress shoes. I’m guessing you were a classy guy before you met me.”

Cas felt a spike of anger at Dean’s implication that his association with Dean had made him less than whatever he was before. Dean’s perception of himself was a source of frustration that had begun to grow into a gnawing ache, especially as he came in contact with those around him.

It was clear from the conversations he’d had that day, and from what he’d deduced from his brief interaction with Sam the day before, that everyone who knew Dean loved him a great deal. Despite that, they didn’t seem to see him for everything he really was. Cas didn’t know if it was Dean’s humble nature that blinded them, or their casual indifference that fed Dean’s self-deprecation. In any case, Cas wished he knew a way to break it.

“I’m not sure I agree with your assessment, Dean,” he said. “You found me on a Sunday, correct?”

Dean nodded.

“Well, as it seems unlikely I would be coming from work on a Sunday, another logical conclusion might be that I was coming from church. I do believe it’s customary for many people to dress in nicer clothing for services?” Cas wasn’t really sure where his knowledge of church traditions came from, but it was there and it felt right. “This past Sunday marked the beginning of Advent,” even as Cas spoke, he felt a tingling at the back of neck, as though his words were trying to trigger something, some lost thought. “Perhaps I was a devout Catholic, coming home from evening mass.”

“Huh,” Dean said, as though such a thought hadn’t occurred to him before.

“Besides,” Cas continued, “given the ease with which I handled the delivery this morning suggests that I’m familiar with moving heavy weights. So manual labor doesn’t seem to be too much of a stretch of the imagination.”

Dean quickly glanced at him with a wry smile before focusing back on the road, “That, or you made excellent use of a gym membership.”

Cas just rolled his eyes. “In any case, such speculations are pointless. We don’t know what I did for a living before you found me. Regardless of whatever my past might have been, this is my present. I am more than comfortable with the position I find myself in.”

Dean didn’t respond, but Cas hoped he understood that as much as Cas was talking about his new job, Dean knew Cas was talking about Dean’s place in his life now as well.

Neither of them spoke again before they reached the hospital. Because of the recent storms, there were fewer parking spots available since several were now occupied by huge mounds of dirty snow, packed and piled high.

“Oh man,” Dean chuckled, “that’s gotta be torture for the kids.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asked.

“Dude, are you serious? Look at those hills! Nice and compact too. Those are just begging to be sled down.”

Cas looked at the snow again and could indeed picture kids in his mind’s eye, laughing as they scaled the clumped outer side where the plow had pushed the snow from the street, only to fly down the more collapsed hill that led to the small lawn in front of the imposing and sterile looking building.

“I suppose it would be difficult to see something so inviting from your window and not be able to take advantage of it,” Cas agreed.

Dean hitched his guitar strap a little tighter. “C’mon then, they’re waiting for us. At least we can give them a little something.”

They walked into the building and Cas followed as Dean strode confidently over to the elevator, clearly familiar with the layout.

“Does Sam work in the pediatrics ward?” Cas asked as they stepped inside the small square room.

Dean nodded as he hit the button for the twelfth floor. “Yeah, but we probably won’t see him. He’s a pediatric oncologist. It really sucks. For a lot of his patients, there’s so little he can do. And for those he can help, usually the cure hurts more than the disease. And a lot of them are so little, they just don’t understand why.”

Shaking his head, he turned to Cas, his mouth turned up on one side as though in a smile, but there was nothing happy about it. “He’s a real hero, you know? He deals with this stuff every day, and I really don’t know how he does it. He loves it though. And for every patient he saves, man. He says that’s what makes it worth it. And despite all the suffering they go through, he’s so good at giving them hope.”

“Somehow, I think you probably help,” Cas said.

Dean looked at him confused, but before Cas could elaborate further, the chime above them dinged, signaling their arrival, and the doors slid open.

The scene before them was one of hope indeed. The entire floor had been decked out in Christmas decorations. There were lights and garland strung over the nurses station directly opposite the elevator shaft. On the left, oversized candy canes stood sentinel by two large doors propped open and leading in to the main ward. On the right, an open patient’s lounge held a huge Christmas tree obviously decorated by patients of varying ages. There were brightly wrapped packages beneath the tree, but Cas couldn’t tell if they were actual presents or just props.

There were loud noises of excitement coming from the lounge and Cas estimated there were perhaps twenty to thirty children milling about the area. Some were sitting quietly, not interacting with those around them, others were watching tv, a few of the obviously healthier ones were laughing and chasing each other around the chairs that had been set up. Most though, were sitting or standing and chatting animatedly with their friends as they waited for whatever was about to happen next.

As soon as the first few noticed Dean, a cheer went up from the whole group and those who weren’t already in a seat scrambled to claim their place. Cas couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm.

Dean might not be able to give them hope for a cure, but Cas knew what he’d wanted to tell Dean was right. He brought them hope and joy nonetheless.

“Gee, Cas, I don’t think these guys are very happy to see me, guess we oughta just go back home,” Dean joked loudly, winking at Cas.

Cas couldn’t help laughing at the chorus of denials that went up from the group in front of them. Squeezing Dean’s upper arm in a silent gesture of support, he pulled away from the other man to take up a position in the back of the lounge, leaning against a wall while Dean walked to the front of the room where a chair had been set up facing the rest of the kids.

“So, uh, hey guys,” Dean said, smiling at the kids around him, his guitar leaning against the chair beside him on the floor. “Sorry I couldn’t make it last week.”

“That’s ok, Mr. Dean,” a small voice piped up from the floor near the front. The child was too small for Cas to actually see over the heads of the others, but the sentiment made him grin.

Dean smiled down at the child too, “Thanks Emma, I appreciate it. So was anyone able to go outside in this at all? Did anyone build a snowman?”

There was a loud groan from a small contingent of boys off to the right and Dean looked over at them surprised. “What did I say?” he asked.

Several of the younger girls who were sitting closest to the boys started giggling and one of them piped up, “Do you wanna build a snowman, Mr. Dean?”

Dean paused a moment before Cas saw his features relax somewhat as though he suddenly understood something. Looking directly at the boys, he said in a serious voice, “Sorry boys, you’re not gonna win this one. I suggest you let it go.”

Cas didn’t understand the exchange at all, but the kids clearly did, almost all of them bursting out into laughter, including the boys that had instigated the exchange.

“That was really bad, Mr. Dean!” one boy who looked to be about nine or ten called out.

Dean gave an exaggerated bow from his seat, “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all afternoon.”

Picking up his guitar, he slung the strap over his shoulder and adjusted it in his lap until it was comfortable. Pointing back to the boy who’d just spoken, he said, “Ok, Ben, you start us off. What do you wanna hear first?”

The boy grinned impishly, “ _Mistress for Christmas_.”

Dean audibly snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. “Kid, while I admire your everlasting dedication to AC/DC, I’m not quite sure this is the right time for that particular holiday classic.” Turning to a quiet little boy Cas hadn’t yet seen interacting with anyone, Dean asked him, “Jesse, what about you?”

The kid, Jesse, looked surprised at being called on. He appeared younger than Ben, possibly seven or eight. Glancing around furtively as though to make sure he wasn’t going to be teased for his choice, he said, “I like _Deck the Halls_.”

Dean grinned. “Excellent choice. Starting off with an audience participation piece! C’mon guys, you know the drill.”

Dean shifted, situating himself before strumming his pick over the strings.

At the first vibrations of sound, a warmth flowed through Cas, filling him up and making him yearn for more. When Dean actually started singing, he was transfixed, his body rooted to the floor, Dean’s voice burst forth with enthusiasm, reaching out towards him and wrapping around Cas like a warm hug.

Dean for his part, was clearly having a blast. Rather than just singing the songs, he threw in funny voices, making faces and doing everything he could to make the kids laugh. And for this brief pocket of time, these kids, stuck in the hospital during the holidays and dealing with problems even grown ups shouldn’t have to face, got a chance to just be kids.

As Dean played through various songs, all at the children's request, Cas felt something shaking loose within him. Rather than being rooted to the floor, Cas had to anchor himself to his position to keep from crossing the room to Dean. He wasn’t even sure what he hoped to accomplish if he had moved closer to the other man, he just felt a magnetic pull that was almost impossible to resist. He knew he would have been happy to listen to Dean singing for the rest of eternity.

Unfortunately, eternity had to come to an end far too soon. After about an hour and a half, Dean held up a hand, laughing hard after a rather creative rendition of _The Twelve Days of Christmas_. Regaining his breath, he continued to chuckle as he said, “Ok, ok, one more. We’ve got time for one more. Let’s see, who hasn’t had a chance to go yet?”

As Dean looked around the kids all energetically waving their hands for his attention, Cas felt a light touch against his shoulder. It was enough to break his concentration on Dean and he blinked heavily as he realized he had completely forgotten anyone existed outside of Dean and his audience of children.

A tall nurse with wavy blonde hair stood next to him a friendly smile in place and her hand extended. “You’re Cas, aren’t you?” she asked.

It amazed him how people in this town seemed to know him before they’d even set eyes on him. “Yes,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it, the question clear in his eyes.

She laughed lightly. “I’m Jess, Sam’s wife.”

Cas recalled that Dean had told him both Sam and Jess worked in the hospital. “You’re a nurse in the E.R., correct?” Cas asked politely.

Jess nodded. “Yep. Just got off my shift and I thought I’d come up to catch the end of the show.

“Dean is exceptionally talented,” Cas said, eyes back on the man at the front of the room.

Jess shrugged as she nodded. “The kids really like him. It does a lot to make their day.”

Cas frowned, wondering how someone could compliment and insult someone so casually simultaneously. He doubted she even realized she’d done it.

“Oh,” she said softly as Dean pointed to a small boy sitting by himself on the fringe of the crowd. “That’s Timmy Conroy,” she explained.

Cas looked more closely at the kid. He was a towheaded boy on the skinny side, with ears he hadn’t quite grown into, and glasses. Cas noticed his right leg encased in plaster with a crutch leaning against the wall next to him.

“He came in a few days ago while I was on shift in the emergency room. He and his mom were in the car when she lost control in the snow. I’m not sure what they hit, but their car caught fire. She didn’t make it, but she managed to push Timmy out before she died. No father in the picture. He’s really only here because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go right now.”

Cas’s heart twisted as he watched Dean interact with the boy.

“You’re a new face for me,” Dean said. “What about you? You got any favorite Christmas songs?”

The boy blinked almost owlishly, clearly nervous at being picked out.

“Um,” he said very quietly, looking down at his hands where they twisted in his lap.

Dean was patient, not prodding the boy on, just letting him answer at his own pace.

“My mom’s favorite Christmas song was _Merry Little Christmas_ ,” he finally said, not looking up at Dean.

“ _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_?” Dean asked, making sure he’d heard correctly.

Timmy nodded and Dean gave him a soft smile, sadness clear in his eyes. “That was one of my mom’s favorite’s too, Timmy.”

There was a different air about Dean as he started to play this last song. It was slower, more serious and heartfelt. The kids, who had all been laughing and singing along before, were now hushed as they listened to the melody and the gentle timbre of Dean’s voice as it rolled over them like a balm.

_Have yourself, a merry little Christmas,_

_Let your heart be light._

_Next year, all our troubles will be out of sight._

__

_Have yourself, a merry little Christmas,_

_Make the Yuletide gay._

_From now on, our troubles will be miles away._

Cas watched as Dean’s voice wove a spell over the audience. He realized how bittersweet the words of the song were for these children, away from home and loved ones. Their biggest wish for the holidays wouldn’t be a new toy, but to get well. For the troubles to be gone, out of mind, even if only for a day.

_Here we are, as in olden days._

_Happy golden days, of yore._

_Loving friends, who are dear to us,_

_Gather near to us, once more._

He thought of Timmy, who’d lost his mother and was spending the holidays in the hospital because he had no one else to take him in. How many other children here were separated from loved ones?

As Dean started the next verse, Cas choked on a gasp.

_Through the years, we all will be together,_

_if the fates, allow_.

 

Cas was sure he wasn’t imagining it.

_Hang a shining star, above the highest bow,_

 

Dean seemed to be glowing, radiating strength and warmth from somewhere within him. His heart a beacon for anyone who needed hope and something to cling to.

 

_And have yourself, a merry little Christmas, now._

Dean seemed to be lost in the song, and Cas could almost see the other man’s heart breaking for these kids who were doing everything they could to make the best of their shitty luck of the draw. Cas felt something within himself unfurl, wanting to wrap itself protectively around this man who gave so much to everyone around him. Beside him, he distantly heard Jess sniffle.

_Through the years, we all will be together,_

_if the fates allow._

Cas suddenly realized that he wanted exactly that with Dean. He didn’t care what memories he was missing. And curse the fates. He would rend them to shreds if they tried to take him from this man.

_But ‘til then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow_

_And have yourself, a merry little Christmas, now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this and DIDN'T hear Jensen singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" while playing a guitar from the Jason Manns Christmas album, you either haven't heard it yet (which is a shame and you should fix that) or you're reading it wrong. Just sayin' :-p


	8. Chapter 8

Dean would have been lying if he said the last kid’s request hadn’t been hard for him. He could still remember his own mother holding him close in front of the fireplace, tree lit up in the corner, while she stroked his forehead and sang that song to him.

He also knew how much the kids here really needed to believe the message of the lyrics. So he’d put as much of himself into it as he could. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cas while he played, refusing to admit how much he needed to believe the message too.

He had glanced over at him a couple of times during the show, trying to get an idea of what Cas thought of his music. It was nerve wracking, trying to keep his attention on the kids, but also trying to determine how Cas reacted to this part of Dean.

And the man had been damn near unreadable.

Dean hadn’t seen him crack a smile the whole show, but his gaze had been intense, never seeming to leave Dean. At one point, Dean was positive he’d seen Cas’s eyes almost glowing, the blue giving way to a bright white, but he’d chided himself for being silly. The nurses were taking pictures and Cas’s eyes had undoubtedly caught the glare of a flash.

When he finished, he looked up and saw Jess standing next to Cas. She smiled and waved to him and he waved back before turning to the kids to say his goodbyes for the week.

As per usual, he was met with cries of the kids pleading for just one more song. He winked at them, jerking his thumb in the direction of the nurses station. “No can do guys, your wardens are already giving me the stink eye.” It was a standard routine and the kids laughed at the familiarity, many coming to give him a hug and a thank you before heading back to their respective rooms.

Eventually he made his way over to Jess and Cas, guitar slung over his shoulder. Jess immediately pulled him forward for a hug.

“That was great, Dean. I could tell the kids loved it. And thanks for taking Timmy’s request.”

“Timmy?” Dean asked, cocking his head to the side.

“The kid who asked for the last song. He came in last week. Lost his mom in the car accident where he broke his leg.”

 _Well, damn_ , Dean thought, running his free hand through his hair. That put a whole new perspective on the kid’s request. Dean suddenly remembered that Timmy had said the song was his mother’s favorite. He hadn’t picked up on the past tense before now.

Dean glanced at Cas, extremely conscious of the fact that he still hadn’t said a word.

The other man was still staring at him intently, his eyes wide and filled with something Dean couldn’t identify.

Jess, for her part, seemed oblivious. “Thanks again for watching Sarah for so long,” she said.

Dean couldn’t help the grin that split his face. “You know you never need to thank me for that, Jess. I love having her. She’s welcome anytime.”

“Hey! You and Cas ought to come by for dinner next Sunday night. Sam and I actually both have the day off together and it would be great to see you. Besides, it’ll give us a chance to get to know Cas a little better.”

Dean smiled, genuinely happy at the idea. “Sounds great, Jess. Just let me know what time we need to be there and we’ll be there.”

“Deal. Now, speaking of my little angel, I need to go get her from the daycare.” Giving Dean another hug and waving to Cas, Jess turned to walk down the hallway.

Faking nonchalance, Dean tucked the hand not holding on to the strap of his guitar into his back pocket and nodded his head towards the elevator, painfully aware Cas had yet to stop staring at him.

Once the silver doors shut behind them and they were alone, Dean shot a nervous grin to Cas. “So, what did you think?”

Instead of responding verbally, Cas stepped forward into Dean’s personal space, reaching up to gently cup Dean’s face in his hands, before placing a light, almost reverent kiss against his lips.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he snaked one hand around to curl against Cas’s neck while the other arm wrapped around Cas’s waist so Dean could clutch his fingers in the fabric of the other man’s shirt.

When he felt Cas moving away, he couldn’t prevent the small sound of discontent that escaped him. He leaned forward, chasing Cas’s mouth with his own, unwilling to lose this so soon after receiving it.

Cas acquiesced, moving back in, grasping Dean’s face more firmly and deepening the kiss.

It was a little stumbling, as though Cas wasn’t completely sure what to do, but Dean could feel the burning intention behind the action. Cas made Dean feel almost worshiped.

Far too soon for Dean’s liking, the chime sounded above them, alerting them that they’d reached the ground floor. Reluctantly, Dean released Cas as the doors slid open to reveal the hospital lobby.

Cas smiled at him, lips pink and plumped and his eyes bright. “Does that answer your question, Dean?”

Still a little dazed, and wishing like hell they were already home, Dean blinked and nodded, before reaching down and grabbing Cas’s hand. Smiling back and feeling more than a little goofy, Dean nodded. “Uh, yeah, I, uh, I guess it does.”

Dean was glad they didn’t run into anyone he knew on the way back out to the car. Not because he was embarrassed at the thought of being caught holding Cas’s hand, but because he couldn’t wipe the stupid little grin off his face even if he wanted to.

Once they were both inside the Impala and Dean had turned the engine on to warm it up, he felt a wave of uncharacteristic shyness wash over him. Sure Cas had kissed him once, but did that mean he would want to again? Could Dean lean over and kiss this amazing man beside him, who had literally just dropped into his life?

“So, uh, so, man,” Dean started, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. Shit. He had no idea how to have this kind of conversation. God, he hoped he didn’t blow it. “Not that I’m complaining, man. At all. Like, that was awesome. But, uh, what exactly was that back there in the elevator?”

Cas raised an eyebrow and looked at Dean as though slightly concerned for his wits. “Conventionally, I believe it’s called a kiss, Dean.”

Dean snorted, grateful for the break in tension. “Yeah, Cas, thanks, caught that bit. What I mean is, well, there are lots of different kinds of kisses. I get that you liked my music and all, but, uh. Was that all that was?”

Cas smiled softly at Dean, taking his hand and lifting it to his mouth and gently kissing the knuckles. And no, that didn’t make Dean’s stomach tighten around a mass of dancing nerves at all.

Cas looked out the front windshield, surveying the snow covering the lawn as he spoke. “Dean Winchester, I will never understand why you feel so undeserving of love.”

What was he supposed to say to that?

Turning to face Dean again, Cas’s eyes bore into him, as though willing Dean to believe his words. “I’d seen it before, Dean, but watching you today, listening to you play - it wasn’t listening to music. I mean, it was, but, well.” Never breaking eye contact, Cas paused as though trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to tell Dean in a way that would make sense. “We’ve listened to the radio together every day in your workshop. This wasn’t like that. You put so much of yourself into what you do. Your cooking, your carpentry, your car. Back there, I wasn’t watching you play music, I was seeing you.” Cas leaned in to place a light kiss, really just a quick press of mouth against mouth before pulling back. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Dean.”

“Well, guess I should be glad you don’t remember having seen much, huh?” Dean quipped, on instinct. He regretted it almost instantly at the flash of hurt that shot through Cas’s eyes before being replaced by sadness.

“Dean, even if I had several millennia of memories, I doubt anything could compare,” Cas said, laying a hand against Dean’s cheek.

Unable to speak, afraid he would somehow ruin this new place he and Cas had found, Dean just nodded. It was the closest he could come to accepting what Cas said as truth.

Reaching forward, Dean put the Impala in reverse to back out of the spot and take them home. Once they were out of the parking lot and on the open road, he reached over to grasp Cas’s hand. Sneaking a glance out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas smile.

* * *

 

Falling into this new, whatever this was, with Cas turned out to be almost as easy as breathing. Very little actually changed between them in regards to how they treated each other. What was different was how they moved _around_ each other. Whereas before, there’d always been a sense of personal space between them, breached only for an occasional pat on the shoulder, now they were far more tactile, brushing a hand along the small of a back as they passed each other by, sitting flush against each other as they watched the movies Dean insisted were critical for anyone to be able to understand popular culture, an occasional kiss, just because one or the other felt like it.

Neither man seemed particularly pressed to move the relationship past that yet, both content to take it slow and see where things led. Cas had moved off the couch, but he’d moved into the guest room rather than Dean’s. And Dean was fine with that. All in all, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy.

Over the next week, a routine of sorts developed as the snow continued to clear and Cas became more acquainted with his job at the Roadhouse. Every other day, Dean would drive him to the bar and drop him off before heading home to work on his orders for the woodshop. He was now pretty far along on the footboard and had the bookshelf framed out.

Dean also spent at least an hour of each day Cas was gone working on the little figurine. He’d decided he was definitely going to give it to Cas for Christmas and wanted it to be perfect. For some reason, he still hadn’t fully carved the form out of the wood, a large, unworked expanse remained attached to the back of the miniature version of the man he was rapidly falling in love with. Perhaps the wood was telling him this piece was meant to have a background. It was frustrating that he wasn’t just feeling it the way he normally could. It was like something was blocking him.

On the days Cas wasn’t working, he was often down in the workshop with Dean. He’d adopted a stool in one of the corners where he wouldn’t be in the way as Dean moved around. More often than not, if he wasn’t watching Dean work, he would read quietly. By Wednesday, Dean had shown Cas the bookshelf that lined one side of his walk-in closet and told him he was welcome to anything he liked. He loved the way Cas’ eyes lit up as though Dean had given him a great gift.

Friday, Cas went with Dean again to the hospital. Dean was glad to see there were fewer kids this time, several of the faces he’d grown accustomed to over the past couple weeks having been released in time for the holidays. Little Timmy was still there though, still sitting by himself.

Dean’s heart ached for the boy. He knew how hard it was to lose your mother so young. And he knew what it was like to lose her in a fire. At least he'd still had Sam. He wished he knew what he could do for him.

On the way home, Cas looked at him softly as he leaned against the window. The same admiration he’d seen in Cas’ eyes last week was there again.

“Dean?” Cas said, his voice rising at the end to make his name sound like a question.

Dean glanced at him quickly before turning back to the road, surprised at the tentativeness in his voice. “Yeah, Cas?”

“Have you ever considered…” Cas trailed off as though unsure of Dean’s reaction to whatever it was he wanted to say. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Have you ever considered writing your own music?”

Dean’s brain blanked. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

After a moment of silence that had stretched just long enough to become awkward, Dean took a deep breath. “I’m not really sure I’d be any good, Cas.”

Cas frowned. “What makes you think that, Dean?”

“Well, I mean it’s one thing to play the notes someone else put together. But it’s not like I’ve ever really seriously studied music or music theory. I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing there, ya’ know? And, yeah, any schmuck can put words on paper and make them rhyme, but songs are supposed to have meaning, they’re supposed to tell a story. I don’t, I mean I don’t think I’m really all that great at that.” 

“Why?”

Dean chuckled, trying to deflect. “What are you, man, four? Are you just gonna ask why after everything I say?”

“If that’s what it takes to understand your answer, then yes,” Cas said stubbornly.

“Look, man...” Saying what he had to say next was a wrench. An admission that scared him. “I don’t, I mean…” he sighed and pulled over to the side of the road. He couldn’t do this and drive.

He kept his hands on the steering wheel, needing something to ground him, to keep him from running away.

“I’m not good at things like that, Cas. I’ve never been...smart. That was always Sam.” Dean stared at the wheel, unable to meet Cas’ eyes. “Hell, I couldn’t even make it through high school. Flunked out. Damn were my teachers glad to see me go to. Especially once they’d had Sam and saw the difference between us.”

Dean waited for Cas’s snort of derision, for him to realize that he’d gotten himself involved with a loser who couldn’t even make it all the way through basic compulsory education. He wondered how long it would be before he decided to move out. He had an income now. He could at least afford a motel until he found something better. Dean felt a lump forming in his throat and he closed his eyes as he forced himself to swallow it down.

The silence in the car was overwhelming, and Dean thought for sure it would break him, when he felt the bench seat give as Cas slid closer to him. A gentle hand touched his chin and urged his head to turn to face Cas. He let the hand guide him, opening his eyes to meet Cas’. He didn’t see contempt in his expression. Instead, Dean read sorrow there, and something else that he couldn’t interpret. Something deep and almost ancient. A wisdom Dean could never hope to touch.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice low and even. “While it’s admirable that your brother managed to succeed academically, traditional schooling is only one marker of intelligence. Can I tell you what I see? Will you listen? Really listen and try to believe?”

Dean swallowed. He wanted to, so badly. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

“Dean, you raised your brother to be strong and independent by sacrificing your own childhood. You run your own business, which in and of itself is no small achievement. You have an incredible amount of creativity in you. I’ve seen it in your work. Not just in the things you actually sell, but even more so in the things you toss aside on that shelf in the back of your workshop because it was just a way to pass the time. Your cooking is amazing. The way you don’t just sing to the kids, but play with them. That requires imagination Dean.” Cas paused, using his thumb to wipe a stray tear from Dean’s eye before moving both hand so his fingers wove into the short strands of Dean’s hair on the back of his head as he pulled Dean’s face closer to rest their foreheads together.

“You are a smart man, Dean Winchester. You don’t need a high school diploma or GPA to tell you that. You have lived and you have thrived, in spite of a lousy childhood. You have supported those around you, and as far as I can tell, have never once expected a thank you in return.”

They sat on the side of the road for another five minutes before Dean was able to compose himself enough to drive them the rest of the way home. That night, by unspoken agreement, Cas followed Dean upstairs to his loft bedroom where they slept wrapped up together, Cas’ arm curled protectively around Dean’s chest.

 

* * *

 

The Sunday Dean and Cas were supposed to go to Sam and Jess’ for dinner, Cas had to work. After dropping him off, Dean came home and wandered around the empty house for a bit. He was still trying to process how it was he’d gotten so lucky. And he was really making an effort to try and see himself the way Cas saw him.

Eventually, he found himself in his closet, staring at his bookshelf. Working up his nerve, he moved to the ledge on the far right, on eye level and flush with the back of the closet. He had to pull several of the books out, but soon he exposed the small catch he’d worked into the unit when he’d installed it. Opening it revealed a small space where he kept the things that mattered the most to him - his mother’s ring, an old necklace he doubted Sam even remembered giving to him when they were kids and it had been their first Christmas at Bobby’s without their father, and a thick sheaf of papers, rolled over on themselves and tied up with some of the twine he kept in his workshop. He pulled the later out carefully.

He had bared his soul to Cas the other day, but he hadn’t quite been ready to admit everything. He’d never actually answered Cas’ question.

Yes, he’d thought about writing his own music. Hell, he _had_ written his own music. Most of what was in his hands now was just a series of rough drafts. He’d come up with a couple of funny little ditties for Sarah when she first started staying with him when Jess and Sam had overnight shifts - in fact, Sarah was the only one who’d ever heard his music. She was hardly the most critical of audiences, and it sometimes helped her to go to sleep when she spent the night with him. But there was one piece in here that Dean had been working on for years. It was never quite right, never saying exactly what he needed it to say.

He pulled it out every few months. Worked on it some more. He’d never told anyone. Never shared that part of himself. Because if anyone took that and told him it was crap, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. He’d never felt compelled to do so until Cas.

He didn’t think Cas would laugh at him, or tell him it was terrible. But what if he did? Dean closed his eyes and tried to tamp down the negative thoughts. Maybe he could work on it a little more over the next couple weeks. He knew it still wasn’t ready just yet, there had been changes in his life that the song didn’t reflect, but maybe it wouldn’t need too much more. Maybe he could show Cas soon.

Taking the music with him to the living room, Dean pulled out his guitar and started playing, occasionally leaning forward to make a change to the pages strewn over the table. As he tended to do in his workshop, Dean lost himself in what he was doing, only getting pulled out of his headspace by the jarring ring of his cell phone.

Blinking, he looked around for the source of the sound, finally spotting it on the end table next to the couch. Reaching over, he grabbed it and quickly swiped his thumb across the face, not even bothering to check who the caller was.

“Hello?” he said.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice came through, sounding odd on the phone.

“Cas? You all right?” Dean asked, frowning.

“I was calling to ask you the same thing. You were supposed to pick me up twenty minutes ago.”

Dean looked at the clock on the dvd player under the TV. _Shit._

“Oh damn, I’m sorry, Cas, I got caught up in something, I completely lost track of time. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes, ok? I’m really sorry,” Dean said as he scrambled to organize the papers in front of him, not bothering to tie them together as he took the steps two at a time.

“It’s fine, Dean, I’m just glad to know you’re all right. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, man, I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up and shoved the phone in his back pocket as he fumbled to open the latch on the compartment again, making sure the papers where all back inside before shutting it up and replacing the books.

When he finally pulled up to the Roadhouse twenty-five minutes later, he jumped out of the car and pushed through the front door. He breathed out a sigh when he saw Cas sitting at the bar talking to Ellen.  

Walking at a more regular pace, he approached the two, casually slipping his arm around Cas’ waist and leaning in for a quick kiss. “Hey, man, sorry again for being late.”

Cas blinked at him, surprised, but a small smile spread across his face, before he shot a minute glance at Ellen.

Dean felt his ears heat a bit. It wasn’t that he or Cas were hiding their relationship, but this was the first public display of affection either had shown since things had changed between them. He turned towards Ellen, a little sheepish.

She just had one eyebrow raised, a rag in one hand still on the top of the bar she’d been wiping down. She looked amused, but not particularly surprised. Dean counted it as a win.  

He looked back to Cas again. “You ready to get out of here?”

Cas nodded, “I’d like to shower before we head over to your brother’s for dinner.”

Dean nodded back and guided Cas off the stool, not wanting to move his hand from its place around the other man’s waist.

“Dean!” Ellen called. He stopped and turned toward her, relinquishing his hold on Cas as Cas put on his coat. “The roads are icy out there today, be careful.” She tilted her head a little towards Cas and Dean understood what she was really implying.

His mouth twitched a little as he noted the concern came too little too late, he was gone. Despite that, he nodded his head in acknowledgement, “Thanks, Ellen, I will.”

 

* * *

 

It was a miracle they made it to Sam and Jess’ on time. Thanks to Dean, they were already behind schedule, but at the last minute, Cas insisted that they needed to stop at the store to pick up wine and flowers to take with them.

Dean groused that beer would have been a better choice, but he wasn’t going to deny Cas such a simple request.

Based on Sam and Jess’ reaction when Cas presented the gifts, Cas had been right. Sam looked at Dean and grinned. “Gee, Dean. I didn’t think you even realized wine existed in the bottle variety.”

He tried not to let the remark sting. It was fair enough. Everyone knew he wasn’t a wine guy. “Yeah, well, you have Cas to thank for that one. If it were up to me, you’d have gotten a six pack of microbrew.”

Sam turned to Cas grinning. “Wow, Cas, you might actually civilize my brother yet.”

Cas reached out and placed a hand lightly on the small of Dean’s back, as though he knew Dean needed the reassuring touch. “I find Dean to be perfectly civilized just as he is. His pallet simply runs towards hops rather than fruit.”

Sam stopped and looked at Cas, his head jerking back a little in surprise. His eyes flickered down to Cas’ hand on Dean’s back before jumping to meet Dean’s.

Dean squared his shoulders and stood up a little straighter, not sure what to expect from his brother. Probably a speech on why it was a really bad idea to jump into a relationship with a complete stranger. Dean realized he didn’t care. What he had with Cas was the most profound thing to ever happen to him. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

To his relief his brother just shook his head a little before gesturing over his shoulder, “I’m, uh, I’ll just go...I’m gonna go let this chill in the fridge,” he said before turning and moving towards the kitchen.

Dean felt himself sag a little at the sight of his brother’s retreating back. Whatever Sam wanted to say to him, he at least wasn’t going to make a scene about it.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said.

Dean looked over at him in surprise, shocked to see Cas’ eyebrows drawn together in contrite concern.

“What for?” he asked

“I didn’t mean to be rude to Sam. I probably could have expressed myself more diplomatically.”

Dean snorted, “Seriously, man, don’t worry about it. I actually really appreciate what you said.”

Cas relaxed again and Dean was glad.

As they followed Sam to the kitchen, Dean called out, “Where’s my gorgeous niece?”

He heard Jess laughing as she moved towards the door, apron around her waist. “She’s staying at my parent’s tonight so we don’t have to worry about putting her down in the middle of eating,” she explained.

Dean couldn’t help feeling a little let down. He had been looking forward to playing with the baby. Her smile ranked on Dean’s list of top five favorite things to see. He shrugged. It wasn't like he wouldn’t get to see her another time.

Dinner progressed well with happy banter flowing easily between the four adults. Both Sam and Dean tried to outdo each other with embarrassing stories from their childhood while Jess and Cas held their sides as they struggled to breathe through their laughter.  

By the time dessert rolled around, Dean was feeling pretty good about himself. Beneath the table, his hand sought Cas’, giving it a light, appreciative squeeze. Conversation had calmed down quite a bit and Cas asked Sam and Jess how they decided to go into medicine.

“I just really wanted to do something that gave back to society in a meaningful way, ya’ know?” Sam said thoughtfully. “Public service always seemed like the most noble type of calling to me. I wanted to make a difference.”

Cas tilted his head. “Helping people the way you do really is a wonderful thing. I’m sure there are many families out there celebrating today that wouldn’t be without your help. But I wouldn’t necessarily say that it’s more noble than another type of profession. Whatever a person chooses to do, they are contributing to society in some way.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam said, obviously flustered at Cas’ calm rebuttal, “but I mean, there are certainly different levels of how much a person contributes. Doctors save lives, cops put their lives on the line everyday to keep people safe, teachers inspire kids to learn and grow the next generation. And those jobs generally require a lot of training and education,” Sam said, unaware of how tense Dean was becoming across from him.

Dean looked down at the table, unconsciously squeezing Cas’ hand a little harder.

“I believe the dinner we’re eating is on a table of your brother’s making, correct?” Cas asked, his tone a little more clipped than Dean was used to hearing.

Sam blinked, a little startled at the change in direction. “Well, yeah. He gave it to us as a wedding present.”

“Yet, this is what your brother does for a living. How many people are able to eat their dinner, every day on a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, something that has become woven into their daily lives, because of what your brother does?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not saying Dean’s not good at what he does, he really is -”

Dean worked hard to bite his tongue. He was surprised at how angry he was that Sam was now talking about him as though he wasn’t even in the friggin’ room.

“- but he could be capable of so much more if he just went back to school and finished his education.”

This time, Dean felt Cas squeeze his hand tight. Looking up quickly at the man next to him, Dean saw a flash of anger, Cas’ eyes almost looking white, before a strange calm settled over his features.

“The son of God was a carpenter. It seemed good enough for him.”

Sam looked at Cas slack jawed, unable to respond to that. Dean looked at Cas too, trying to put all the gratitude he felt for the other man in his eyes. He knew he’d never be able to express it in words.

“So!” Jess said brightly, trying to break the tension. “Would anyone like a coffee?”

The rest of the evening passed without incident, Sam even going out of his way to tell Dean he’d seen the stair railing he’d recently made for Benny’s bakery and that he’d really liked it.

When Dean and Cas made it home, Dean pulled Cas upstairs, kissing him tenderly as they got ready for bed. Once they were under the covers, Dean turned into Cas’ chest, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and listening to his heartbeat. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Cas, but he was going to make damned sure he didn’t do anything to lose him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end folks! Sorry this is later than I promised! As a treat, it's the length of TWO chapters! I hope you've enjoyed. And I appreciate you reading a Christmas story even after Christmas! And Handprints_in_hell, you have been a WONDERFUL Secret Santee and thank you so much for being so patient with this fic!

The days continued to pass and Cas felt himself growing more and more comfortable in the space he had carved out in Dean’s life. Jody still hadn’t found any information on who he was prior to his appearance in the snow in Dean’s front yard. It frustrated the sheriff to no end.

“People don’t just come out of nowhere,” she said in exasperation as she sat on a stool at the bar in the Roadhouse. “Trust me, something will come up, it has to. Everybody exists somewhere. These days, it’s basically impossible to not show up on the grid.” She seemed to take the lack of results personally.

Cas was growing more confident that she wouldn’t succeed, and he found it made him extraordinarily happy. He no longer had any desire for any life other than the one he was making with Dean. Once every few days, a voice in the back of his head would remind him that he still had a mission to complete, but he was finding it easier to ignore it as time went on.

Now, as they approached Christmas Eve, the large tree standing in front of the window facing the street was brightly lit, with colorful packages stacked beneath it.

There was a simple wooden angel atop the tree. Dean had carved her years ago, her dress a filigreed design that almost resembled lace as it seemed to flow over the topmost branches.  The wings, while light and thin, spread wide and exuded strength and protection for those in the room. Her face held the most detail. Dean said he’d modeled it after a picture of his mother. She seemed to smile down at the room benevolently, as though looking upon those she loved most. Despite the sheer beauty of the piece, Cas couldn’t help but feel a certain disquiet when he looked at her. As though Cas wasn’t quite living up to expectations, or that his place with her son was stolen and not quite right.

He avoided looking at her whenever possible.

Cas spent most of his time when he wasn’t at work in Dean’s workshop while Dean put the finishing touches on his last orders, the final one completed on the twenty-first. After that, they both still spent time in the workshop, only now Dean was showing Cas some of the finer points of working with wood.

The first piece Cas completed was a simple, rounded heart. It turned out somewhat lopsided, but Cas was proud of it anyway.  He took his time sanding it down to smooth out the rough edges. Using a red stain, he coated it to finish it off and give it a vibrancy, and, one night while Dean was in the house making dinner, he used a wood burning pen to etch the word “beloved” in Enochian on the front and put a small delicate hooked screw in the top. He wasn’t sure where the word had come from, but it had floated to the front of his mind and seemed to encompass how he felt. To finish it off, Ellen had given him a length of green ribbon the same shade as Dean’s eyes that he threaded through the hook and tied into a loop.

Satisfied, he’d wrapped the ornament to give to Dean on Christmas morning. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it would express what he wanted it to say.

Dean played more now too. At Cas’s urging, he brought his guitar out almost every night, sometimes just strumming the keys, sometimes goofing off, and other times, he would look at Cas while he played the songs he told Cas his mother had played for him as a child. So far Cas’s favorite was, _Hey Jude_.

Again, Dean seemed to light up when he played. Cas couldn’t explain it, but there were times, Dean just seemed so bright in his eyes. He never mentioned it to Dean, sure the other man would laugh it off.

When Cas woke up on Christmas Eve morning, something felt off. It was like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, a nagging in the back of his mind and his arms tightened instinctively around Dean on the bed next to him.

“Mmphf,” Dean said, before rolling over to nuzzle into the warmth of Cas’s neck. “Mornin’, babe, you ok?” he said without opening his eyes.

Cas frowned, not sure how to answer. He was blissfully happy right here where he was, but there was a sense of foreboding over him. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

Concerned, Dean opened his eyes and sat up on an elbow. He frowned as he looked down at Cas’s face, eyes flickering over him, examining him. Cas thought maybe Dean could see him from the inside out.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry and concern evident in the the tightening of his shoulders and the almost unconscious way he leaned further into Cas’ space.

“I’m not sure,” Cas said, hesitating, trying to find a way to explain what he was feeling. “I feel like I’m divided somehow. I woke up and I could barely breathe. Something just doesn’t feel _right_.”

Panic seemed to filter into Dean’s expression. “What you do mean, it doesn’t feel right? You’re happy, right? This? It’s not us? I mean, are you starting to remember something?” Dean’s words were choppy, as though he was having to force them out and Cas could see his breaths becoming more shallow as well.

Feeling an overwhelming need to calm the man above him, Cas reached up and drew Dean down for a kiss. When he let Dean go, he looked up at the man and smiled.

“I promise you, Dean, I’m happy. There isn’t anywhere in the universe I’d rather be than right here next to you. I’m not explaining it well.” He frowned and dropped his head back down onto the pillow. “I want to be here,” he said slowly, “but I have this feeling, this anxiety in my gut, that says you’re going to be taken away from me. It terrifies me.”

Dean lowered himself so that his arms framed either side of Cas’ head before dropping a kiss against Cas’ mouth. “I dare Heaven, Hell and anyone in between to try and take you from me if you don’t want to go,” Dean said seriously.

In a sudden apparent attempt at light heartedness, Dean rolled off Cas towards the edge of the bed, catching his hand, a grin on his face.

“C’mon, man. It’s Christmas Eve. Today, you celebrate what you have right now, not worry about what might happen.” He tugged at Cas’ hand and Cas was helpless to follow.

“Get out of bed,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a lightness Cas rarely saw there, but had been more frequent the last few days, “I’m making my special eggnog french toast.”

Willing to be led along, Cas followed Dean, working hard to tamp down the nagging feeling that wouldn’t quite leave him.

They spent the day quietly together, just the two of them. They planned to go over to Sam’s tomorrow after breakfast, but today was their own private celebration of the holiday. Dean made a fire and opened the curtains so they could see the light dusting of fresh snow. It wasn’t enough to stop traffic, but it brightened the hills and mounds still left behind from the storm that brought Cas into Dean’s life.

Dean insisted that holiday movies were an absolute must and gave him the option of _White Christmas_  or _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Cas chose the latter and the two were soon wrapped up together under the same blanket, lying down on the couch. Though Cas was usually the big spoon of the pair, Dean instinctively seemed to know that Cas needed the comfort and reassurance of his arms today. He needed to know that Dean wanted to keep him close.

When Clarence’s character was introduced, Cas began to regret his choice in movies. He recognized the same sense of unease in watching the fictional angel that he felt when he looked too long a the Mary figurine on top of the tree.

He began to fidget and it didn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

Cas felt Dean’s arms tighten around him, not in restraint, but in an attempt to comfort. Dean’s nose nuzzled the back of his neck and his breath fanned out, warm across his shoulders. “Cas, you ok?”

“Yes, it’s just, I don’t think I’m quite in the mood for this movie. Do you have a comedy, maybe?”

There was a beat of silence as though Dean was trying to measure whether Cas was really all right or not.

“Sure, man,” he said, untangling himself from Cas and the couch as he stepped over Cas’s legs to get to the tv stand.

Cas sat up, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Dean waved him off. “Don’t be. Besides, I forgot how long this movie is.” Fishing out what he was looking for, Dean opened a much more brightly covered case with a tall man in green on the front.

“If _Elf_ can’t make you laugh, I’m not sure what Christmas movie will,” he said, smiling at Cas before resuming his position, this time, making sure to constantly move his hands in a reassuring manner over Cas’ chest and, occasionally, arms.  

Dean was right, Cas enjoyed the second movie far more. By the end, he found himself in a genuinely good mood.

They’d made it part way through dinner before the nagging feeling had returned. Cas hated that he couldn’t hide it completely from Dean, who kept shooting him looks of concern.

“Hey, why don’t we go ahead and exchange our presents tonight?” Dean suggested, clearly trying to distract Cas.

Cas nodded, trying hard to focus on the here and now. He wanted to do anything he could to wipe the worried expression off of Dean's face.

Dean tugged Cas over to the floor in front of the fire. “I want you to just…” he gestured a _stay_ motion with his hands, “I’ll be right back. I need, I need to go get something real quick.”

Bemused, Cas watched as Dean backed up and hurried up the stairs, leaving Cas next to the fire and tree.

He wasn’t gone long. After a minute, he was running back down the stairs two at a time, guitar in hand. He stalled when he reached Cas, looking down at him for a minute before dropping to his knees in front of him.

“So, ah,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck self consciously.

Cas tilted his head to the side, not sure why Dean was so obviously nervous. He’d been playing for Cas almost constantly the past few weeks.

“Do you, do you remember when you asked me a few weeks ago if I’d ever thought of writing my own music?” Dean asked, not meeting Cas’s gaze.

Cas sat up straight, his eyes wide in surprise. Had Dean written his own song?

“So, I wasn’t completely truthful before. I have thought about it. A lot. I’ve actually been working on this for a few years. I’ve never told anyone,” Dean said, looking up at Cas for the first time so Cas could read the vulnerability in his expression. “I just thought, maybe, I wanted to share it with you, if you wanted to hear it.”

Cas sat up on his knees so he could look Dean directly in the eye. Leaning forward, he grabbed Dean’s face and kissed him fiercely, tongue pushing along the seam of Dean’s lips as he demanded entrance. Pulling back, he took Dean’s bottom lip lightly between his teeth, letting them scrape along the edge as he looked a very startled Dean Winchester in the eye.

“I, uh, I guess that’s a yes then,” Dean chuckled, nerves still evident but a little more relaxed than he had been.

Cas grinned, flying high at the idea that Dean had not only written a song, but he felt comfortable enough with Cas to share it. “It’s a yes, Dean,” he said in reply, settling back on his knees to listen.

Dean fiddled with his guitar a bit, obviously still trying to banish the last of his anxiety, before running the pick across the strings. Closing his eyes, Dean moved into the song.

As Cas listened, he realized everything about it echoed _Dean_. Love, loss, hope, family, loyalty, all tied up in the melody and lyrics.

Cas’s breath caught in his throat. At almost the first note, he started to notice a gentle glow around Dean. It was unmistakable. When Cas had first watched Dean play at the hospital, he’d hadn’t said anything, chalking it up to his own biases towards Dean and his eyes playing tricks on him.

Now, there was no denying it. As Dean finished the first verse and progressed on to the second, the glow magnified, nearly blinding Cas as he reached out towards it.

Dean continued playing, eyes shut, unaware of the reaction his music was causing.

As Cas reached forward, the glowing light reached back, wrapping first around his fingers, and then his hand as it twined its way up Cas’s arm, radiating the intent that its sole purpose was to provide warmth and comfort.

Dean moved into the third refrain and Cas no longer heard the words so much as he felt them envelope him. The light continued to expand as he watched, moving to cover his chest, constricting ever so slightly around his heart in the most intimate embrace.

In that moment, the chains around Cas’ mind broke, a fount of knowledge bursting through, flooding his mind.

Standing, he heard the music abruptly stop, the glow diminishing around Dean, but the part of the light that had enveloped Cas remained. A gift. Cas held out his hand and called it forth until it coalesced into an incandescently bright ball, exuding a warmth almost too much for Cas to touch, even in his newly awakened state.

Looking down, he saw Dean staring up at him, confusion marring his beautiful features.

“Cas? You ok, man? Did you - did you not like it?”

Cas smiled at Dean. It still baffled him, how this man, this human with such a rare capacity for love, couldn’t see the effects of his good works.

“My name is Castiel,” he said.

Dean’s face twisted further in confusion before wiping blank of all emotion. The change was jarring and Castiel didn’t understand the cause of it.

“You - you’ve remembered then? Who you are? Do you, do you remember your past too?” Dean said, voice flat, eyes fixed on the tree behind Castiel and to the left.

“I am an Angel of the Lord,” Castiel said, and Dean’s gaze flew to Castiel’s face, eyes narrowed and a shadow of concern flickered over his features.

Cautiously, he stood up, holding a hand out towards Castiel who remained standing, one hand held in front of him as he cupped the glowing ball of light. Dean’s eyes never looked towards it; it was as though he couldn’t see it.

“Hey, Cas, man, are you sure you’re ok?”

Castiel’s eyes roved over Dean’s beloved face, taking him in. He knew his mission now. It had been standing in front of him this entire time.

“I’m fine, Dean. I have remembered my mission and with your help, I have found what I needed. I will have to leave soon to deliver proof of what I’ve discovered.”

Fear and hurt flashed in Dean’s eyes and Castiel couldn’t understand the source of it.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

Castiel nodded in confusion. “I must complete my task.”

“What _task_ , Cas? I don’t understand.”

“I told you, my name is Castiel, and I’m an Angel of the Lord -”

“Cas, man, you’re scaring me, you know angels don’t exist, right? Not really. Should I call, Sam?”

Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated on the weight on his back. He knew his wings wouldn’t be able to manifest in such a way that Dean could physically see and touch them, but perhaps he could still provide proof of his words.

The space of the living room was not really conducive to his efforts, but in some ways provided additional evidence. To his left, his wing brushed against the edge of the Christmas tree, causing it to shake, a tinkling of ornaments sounding through the room. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed him that the flickering of the fire magnified the shadow of the wings against the wall.

Dean took a step back, stumbling a little over the edge of the rug.

“What the hell?”

“Heaven, actually,” Castiel said, wanting more than anything to reach out cup Dean’s face, to erase the fear that now grew more pronounced. A fear of him rather than for him. He pulled his wings in, trying to diminish his otherness in Dean’s eyes, but the damage was done.

Dean continued to search his face, trying to make sense of the last five minutes.

The clock in the hallway chimed and Cas’s face paled as he realized the time. It was a quarter to midnight. The deadline for his mission rapidly approached. He had to return to Heaven with proof. He turned to Dean, his heart aching.  There was no time for explanations, no time to help Dean understand. “I’m sorry,” he said, launching into flight.

 

* * *

 

Dean felt numb. There was no other word for it. Before him stood the empty space where the man, no, the angel he’d fallen in love with had stood.

Had he imagined the whole thing? Had the whole month been a dream?

He spotted the bag he’d put under the tree just this morning, Cas’s name written in his tight, slanted script. He picked it up, pulling out the figurine he’d finally finished carving for Cas, only realizing then the true significance of it.

With an anguished cry, he hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a resounding thud, but the wood was sturdy and didn’t break. Instead, it landed on the floor, where the light from the fire illuminated the wings that spread from the statue’s back, casting dancing shadows against the wall, much like Castiel’s had only moments ago.

Turning his back on the room, he grabbed his coat and walked out the door, not really sure of where he was headed.

He drove around aimlessly for about an hour before he realized he’d wound up on Sam’s street. The roads were empty of life. It was one in the morning on Christmas Day. Anyone with half a brain was in their bed sound asleep. Which is where Dean was sure Sam was, with Jess tucked in close beside him. His heart twisted at the memory of that very morning when he’d been in the same position with Cas, thinking he’d been given the whole world.

He stopped in the middle of the road, running a hand down his face and pinching the corners of his eyes to stem the prickle of tears. He had no right to bother Sam with this, but he needed someone. And the someone he wanted most was gone.

Gut twisting with the shame of admitting he’d screwed up again, Dean turned the Impala into Sam’s driveway. He sat there for another minute, engine off, air around him rapidly cooling while he warred with himself about going up to the door and ringing the bell or driving back home.

The thought of going back to his empty house was unbearable and ultimately decided for him.

Trudging up the front steps, Dean hesitated one more time before reaching out and pressing his fingers against the doorbell. He winced as he heard the chime echo through the house and he prayed he didn’t wake up Sarah. A few minutes passed with no response, so he pressed it again, wishing he’d brought his spare key with him.

This time it only took a minute before Dean could see Sam through the window next to the door, shuffling down the steps in a pair of plaid sleep pants and a gray shirt, hair in disarray, as he rubbed his eyes. Sam fumbled with the lock a bit before opening the door and squinting out at his brother.

When he realized it was Dean on the stoop, he blinked. “Dean?” he asked, his face falling into creases of concern. “What’s wrong? Come in.”

He opened the door wider and stepped aside so Dean could come in out of the cold. When he’d shut the door, he turned to his brother expectantly, face curious and worried, but free from judgement or irritation, despite the hour.

“Cas left,” Dean said simply, not really sure how else to start. Anything else and Sam would think he was crazy. He wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t be right.

“What?” Sam asked incredulously. “What happened?”

Dean shrugged. “He got his memories back.”

“And, what, he just got up and left? Just like that in the middle of the night?” Sam asked, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “You guys seemed so happy. What did he remember that couldn’t wait? That would make him just _leave_ like that?”

Dean was grateful that Sam hadn’t implied that it was Dean’s fault, even though he was starting to suspect it was.

“You’re not going to believe me if I tell you,” Dean said, moving past Sam to sit on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Try me,” Sam challenged, sitting on the edge of the chair next to Dean, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped and a look of determination on his face.

“Seriously, Sam. If I try and explain to you what I heard - hell - _saw_ , you are going to insist I get checked for a psych eval or something,” Dean said.

“Won’t know for sure until you tell me.”

Dean looked at his brother, his expression broken, unable to hide the hurt. Sam’s face was calm, open and accepting. Maybe Dean was batshit crazy, but he needed to get this off his chest. So he told him.

Sam sat back in stunned silence when Dean was done.

Dean looked at Sam and tried to throw on a wry smile, but he couldn’t even manage that. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

“So, he, he just...vanished?”

“That’s what it looked like to me.”

“Well, how do you know he won’t come back?” Sam asked.

Dean snorted, “Why in hell would he do that?”

Sam frowned, “It doesn’t seem like him to just leave. Maybe he just went to finish whatever this mission was and he’ll come back.”

“His mission is done. It’s the whole reason he was here. What’s left for him now?” Dean asked.

“You,” Sam said simply as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean just stared at Sam for a moment trying to process.

“You did hear the part where I told you Cas was an Angel of the Lord, right?”

“Yes, got that.”

“What am I? I’m worthless, Sam. There’s no way a freaking Angel of the Lord would want me. Why would he? I’m not good enough for someone - something - like Cas. Hell, I wasn’t even really good enough for him when he was human. I was always sure it was just a matter of time…” Dean broke off, a sob catching in throat.

“Stop it, Dean.” Sam’s voice was sharp and angry. Dean looked up at him, shocked into silence.

“God, you really think that don’t you?” Sam asked, surprised. Realization seemed to dawn on his face, making his jaw go slack and his eyes dazed out.

“Dean. You are the kindest, most generous man I know. No one deserves to be happy more than you.”

The tears that had been threatening since Cas had disappeared began to spill over.

“I’m, I’m not smart, Sammy. It’s like you said at dinner, I never finished my education. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to do what I do. Someone else could fill my place just as easily.”

“No.” Sam’s was sharp and angry. “I was wrong when I said that. I never should have said it to begin with, and I should have apologized a hell of a lot sooner than now. God, I’ve been such a shit brother.”

Dean frowned and opened his mouth to argue.

“No,” Sam said, cutting him off. “You’ve always, _always_ been there for me, Dean, even when no one else was. You were mom and dad both. Even after we moved in with Bobby, you were always the one that made sure I got my homework done and that dinner was ready by the time Bobby got home. And now, you’re there whenever Jess and I need help with Sarah. Seriously, I don’t know what we’d do without you. I guess, I’ve just always taken it for granted that you’d be there. I mean, you always have been, y’know?”

Sam laughed lowly, the sound wasn’t happy. Instead it was held a hint of self-disgust. Dean just watched him, eyes wide, tears still tracking quietly down his face.

“I can’t believe I’ve never thanked you for all that. And as far as your career as a carpenter not being as important? That was way out of line. Cas was right to shoot me down. And you know? I started thinking about it later. I went on and on about training and education. I realized you’d been training since Bobby put that first piece of wood in your hands. You had more practice with wood before you opened your business than I _still_ have with medicine.”

Sam smiled at him, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears, “Don’t ever let me hear you say you aren’t good enough for someone ever again, Dean.”

Dean was in shock. Sam had never said anything like that to him before. Did he really feel that way? Even if he did…

“It still doesn’t change the fact that Cas is literally an angel,” Dean said sadly. “Even if he wanted to come back, I don’t even know if he’d be allowed.”

Sam looked at Dean, compassion heavy in his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll have to pray for a Christmas miracle,” he said.

* * *

 

Castiel flew as fast as his wings would take him back towards Heaven and to the forum, where he knew the host would have gathered. His hand was clutched firmly against his chest, his fingers gently cradling the most precious thing in existence.

When he burst through the entrance of the forum, he had to back wing hard to arrest his momentum.

As expected, it appeared the whole host was present, even those who hadn’t been there for the initial challenge. Michael and Gabriel stood shoulder to shoulder in the center of the room. Castiel saw a wave of relief pass over Gabriel’s face, his wings sagging slightly at the sight of Castiel.

Michael’s face tightened, a small frown appearing, marring his otherwise smooth forehead.

“Ah, brother, you return at last and just in time for the decision,” Michael said, “I wasn’t sure you would actually make it. Clearly your search took you until the very last minute. Have you found anything worthy of sharing with the host?” His voice dripped with derision and doubt.

Gabriel, on the other hand, watched Castiel’s face closely, searching for the truth, rather than assuming. Castiel gave him a slight, almost invisible nod of the head in acknowledgement and a corner of Gabriel’s mouth lifted in a grin.

He turned to Michael. “I have, brother,” Castiel said, his voice ringing loud and clear. He stood tall and proud, still clutching his hand to his chest.

Michael tensed in surprise, his eyes flashing down try and see what it was that Castiel held, but Castiel only pulled his arm closer to himself.

“Before I share this, I want to know who it will be that will judge if my evidence is worthy of saving humanity?” Castiel called loudly, not just to Michael and Gabriel, but to the host as a whole. He would not trust this with just anyone. He refused to show it to someone so blinded they couldn’t or wouldn’t appreciate its sheer beauty.

“I will judge,” a calm voice said behind him. A collective gasp filtered through the host. As one, everyone around him - including Michael and Gabriel dropped to a knee. Castiel turned and his eyes widened at the man in front of him.

He was humble in appearance. A little shorter than Castiel, with tousled hair, a thick beard and kind eyes, Castiel knew him instantly, though he’d never actually seen him face to face before. Few had.

“Father,” he breathed, his hand automatically leaving his chest and reaching out towards God.

God reached back, elbows loose, hands cupped, to receive Castiel’s offering. At the last moment, Cas hesitated, not wanting to lose the warmth the bright ball provided.

His father smiled patiently and waited.

Bowing his head, Castiel tipped his hand over, allowing the light to spill over into God’s hands.

Watching his father closely, Castiel held his breath as God closed his eyes.

Opening them again to look at Castiel, he smiled.

“You have found the soul of the Righteous Man, given as a gift.”

Castiel nodded, “He gives it freely to everyone around him. This was given in song.” He could feel the attention of the rest of the host as they tried to access the piece of Dean’s soul without moving from their positions of respect.

God closed his eyes, bringing his hands to his face, gently blowing on the light, releasing it from its coalesced shape and scattering it throughout the forum, like tiny specks of shining dust in a sunbeam.

As it flew from his father’s hands, the air was filled with the the sound of Dean’s song, the emotion raining down, enveloping the host.

Reaction throughout the room was scattered from cries of delight to tears of joy as the soul motes landed on them, touching every angel gathered. Castiel couldn’t help but notice a large percentage of the motes landed on him as though particularly attracted to his Grace.

He tipped his head back, tears streaming from his eyes, not only at the beauty of Dean’s soul, but in heartbreak at what he had left behind.

He needed to return to Dean. His absence was like a physical hole in Castiel’s Grace, as though he was no longer complete without the human. When he’d left Dean, it had been with every intention of returning. It occurred to him now that it might not be his choice.

“So Michael, does Castiel’s evidence satisfy you as well?” Castiel heard his father ask.

He dropped his head back down to see Michael’s reaction for the first time.

Castiel saw awe in his brother’s eyes and he remembered a moment, several millennia ago, standing with Michael on a beach, Michael pulling him back and cautioning him not to hurt the fish. “There are big plans for that fish,” he’d said, his eyes filled with the same adoration that he displayed now.

Michael met Castiel’s gaze and nodded. “I am satisfied, Father.”

God nodded and turned as though to go. Castiel felt his chest tighten. He’d once told himself he would destroy the fates in order to remain by Dean’s side, no matter what secrets his lack of memory might hide. Now he knew his own secrets and his wish hadn't changed, but he wasn’t sure how to ask, whether what he wanted was even physically possible.

He hadn’t considered that the fates he would have to fight might not be metaphorical.

From behind him, Gabriel’s voice rang out. “Father, before you go, may I request a boon?” Gabriel asked his smile wide and eyes flush with happiness at his victory. Castiel was sure he saw a twinkle in them as Gabriel shot a wink in his direction.

“Of course, my son,” God said, smiling as though he already knew what Gabriel was going to request. Which, he most likely did.

“It’s not really for me, of course. But I think Castiel here has  done a pretty bang up job giving his service not only to the host, but to humanity. I would like to see him given a just reward.”

Castiel looked at his brother, confused, before realizing God’s attention had returned to him.

“Well, Castiel? Gabriel is right. Is there anything you would like?”

Castiel made his request, daring to hope.

* * *

 

At some point in the night, Dean had fallen asleep on the couch. Sam must have draped a blanket over him before heading back upstairs to rejoin Jess. Its weight was the first thing Dean noticed when he woke up. The next was that the light streaming through the front window was obnoxiously bright.

Dammit. It was Christmas. He didn’t want to get up and face the day. More specifically, he didn’t want to get up and face his first day without Cas.

Groaning, he turned to face the back of the couch in a futile effort to block out the world. Maybe Sammy would just let him sleep here for the day. For the week. Whatever it took.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean sat upright so fast his vision tunneled as his blood pressure attempted and failed to compensate. He blinked the darkness away, not believing what he saw in its place.

There, standing at the foot of the couch, once again clad in the suit and trench coat Dean hadn’t seen him in since he’d first pulled him in from the snow, stood Cas.

No, _Castiel_. Dean reminded himself.

He knew he should say something, but his brain didn’t appear to be connected to his mouth. All he could do was stare.

Sam of course chose then to walk downstairs. When he saw Castiel, his face grew stormy, his eyes darkening and his jaw clenching almost dangerously.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Sam asked, his voice low.

“Good morning, Sam,” Castiel said, either oblivious to Sam’s ire or unconcerned by it.

“Really?” Sam said, standing up to his full height, his lower jaw shifting as he tried to organize everything he clearly wanted to tell Castiel. “That’s all you have to say? After you left him high and dry without any real explanation?”

By this point, Dean had swung his legs over the side of the couch and pushed himself upright. “Hey, hey, Sam, calm down, it’s ok.”

“No, Dean. It’s not ok. I don’t give a rat’s ass if he’s an angel. You deserve better than that.”

“Sam,” Castiel said, voice still calm, “would it help if I told you that if I had not left when I did, humanity itself was at risk of destruction?”

“I, well,” Sam said, unable to properly respond to that, his mouth working itself open and closed like a fish.

“Sam,” Dean said, “can you give us a minute?”

“You sure, Dean?” Sam asked, looking anything but.

“Yeah, I’ll be ok. Really. Just give me a little bit.”

Nodding, Sam turned to Castiel before he left. “If you do anything to hurt him, I warn you now, angel or not, I will make you regret it.” His point made, he walked into the kitchen, closing the door to give them privacy.

“Uh, sorry about that,” Dean said, still a little shocked at the intensity of Sam’s reaction.

Castiel’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Dean with intense sorrow. “You have no need to apologize to me, Dean, and I owe you far more than that.”

Dean waited, trying to tamp down the flickers of hope. After all, Castiel was an angel. There was no way he’d want to stay with Dean.

“What I said to Sam was true. I had no choice in how quickly I left you last night. The angels…” Castiel paused, as though trying to rally his thoughts and explain in a way that could help Dean understand.

“The politics of Heaven are not as simple as you might think. A great number of angels are jealous of humanity. In many ways, you have been granted far more than my siblings and I. A large faction believed you - humanity - had squandered that opportunity. They wished to bring an end to your species. I was tasked with finding something that could prove humanity worth saving.”

Dean startled at the revelation, blinking and turning his head to look out the window before looking back at Castiel.

“I assume since we’re still here, you managed to convince them?” he asked, only half joking.

Castiel nodded.

“What the hell did you find, man?”

Castiel stepped closer to Dean, directly in his personal space and close enough that should either of them choose, they would only need to lean forward to meet the other in a kiss.

“You.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” Dean asked, hyper aware of Castiel’s proximity and completely unable to process his answer.

“Your soul, Dean. It’s the brightest I’ve ever seen. There is a purity in it that has continued to shine, despite the hardships you’ve faced. And you give it freely to those around you. I’ve seen it several times over the last month, but wasn’t able to recognize what it was. It’s in your woodwork, and in your music, in anything you create and share with those you love. You put a piece of yourself into everything you do. It is a rare and amazing quality.”

Dean shook his head, still not quite believing what Castiel was telling him. “If it was there the whole time, how come it took until last night before it, what, broke through your mojo blocker?” he asked.

“The songs you sang before last night weren’t yours. They were the words and thoughts of others. Your song last night was an embodiment of you, untarnished. And it was given,” Castiel paused, for the first time seeming unsure of himself, and more like the Cas Dean remembered than at any point so far in their conversation. “It was given with love.”

Dean sucked in a breath. Castiel knew how he felt. The look in his eyes must have been pity.

“Yeah, ok,” he said, trying to find a way to deflect, to pass it off as unimportant. “So what now? You’ve given the angels the proof they need that not all humans are worthless dickbags and now you go back to Heaven?”

“Human kind is saved, yes,” Castiel said. “As for the rest…”

Dean felt hope begin to burn again. “Yeah?” he prompted.

“I was given a reward for my services to the host. God granted me one request of my choosing.”

Dean swallowed. _God_? “Wow, going in for the big guns, hope you made it good,” he tried to joke.

Castiel looked down at the floor and Dean noticed his right hand clenched into a fist. He took a deep breath before looking back up at Dean and staring him down with intensity. “I asked to just be Cas again. To be allowed to live out a human life with you, Dean. If you’ll have me.”

There weren’t words enough in the world to express the riot of emotions that exploded in Dean in that moment. Instead, he reached out to grab the lapel of Cas’ coat and pulled him forward forcefully in a kiss, pouring everything he had into it. Trying to say with his lips and tongue what his voice could not.

Cas melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around Dean and pulling him in as closely as possible. Dean felt a dampness on his cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if the tears were his or Cas’. Maybe both. He didn’t care.

Eventually, they broke apart, but neither retreated far, noses still touching and sharing the air between them.

“You’re sure?” Dean asked, his voice cracking, broken, either from emotion or the kiss, he didn’t know.

“I’m sure, Dean. I love you. I’ve fallen for you in every way possible. Will you let me stay?”

“Cas, you assbutt. You don’t have to ask. God, I love you so much. My home has been yours since you crashed on my front lawn.”

Cas cocked his head to the side and looked up at Dean as though a thought had just occurred to him.

“Dean - that night. The night you found me, were you playing your song? The one you wrote?”

Dean frowned in concentration as he thought back to that night.

“Yeah, man. I was actually. The storm was really loud and the wind was making Sarah fuss. I was playing to her to help get her to sleep.”

“That’s what drew me to you,” Cas said. “That’s what caused me to fall.”

At Dean’s confused expression, Cas explained. “When I left Heaven, I had no particular destination. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I heard something. It was like a beacon I couldn’t ignore, pulling me down. It was you. It was you from the very beginning.” Cas looked up at Dean, eyes bright, “I fell for your soul before I even met you, Dean.”

Overwhelmed, Dean buried his face in Cas’ neck, arms tight around his shoulders. “Thanks for giving me a bit more warning this time, man. I’d hate to not be able to catch you,” he whispered against his angel’s neck.

Pulling back, Dean smiled down, “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Outside the house, snow fell gently, blanketing the world in a fresh white beauty. Mixed among the flakes of snow, for those that could see, were tiny specks of light bringing love and hope to humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few thank you's to everyone who played endless 1k1h's with me over the past week, without which this fic would never have been written! Powerfulweak, Meangreenlimabean, Metatron-the-Transformer, ClotpoleoftheLord, Inthebackoftheimpala, grumpyfeathers, Trekchik, Winjennster - thank you! 
> 
> Also, thank you to Meangreenlimabean who helped to beta the first 10k of this monster that was only supposed to be 2k! What happened to that?!
> 
> An Angel Came Down by Trans Siberian Orchestra:
> 
> An angel came down one night to the earth  
> A mission from God, to find out the worth  
> Of everything that His children had done  
> Since that winter night the birth of His son
> 
> And then a sound filled the night in the cold winter air  
> And in the midst of His flight, it was holding Him there  
> And as He looked toward the earth for the source of this sound  
> On that cold winter night, it was pulling Him down
> 
> To bring something back, this angel was told  
> That no one could touch but angels could hold  
> So on that night when the sky had cleared  
> Among all the stars an angel appeared
> 
> And then a sound filled the night in the cold winter air  
> And in the midst of His flight, it was holding Him there  
> And as He looked toward the earth for the source of this sound  
> On that cold winter night, it was pulling Him down
> 
> And then a sound filled the night in the cold winter air  
> And in the midst of His flight, it was holding Him there  
> And as He looked toward the earth for the source of this sound  
> On that cold winter night, it was pulling Him down


End file.
